


is it chill that you’re in my head?

by houseofthedragon



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And smut!, Cheating, Daario/Daenerys, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Jon is NOT a Targaryen, Original Character(s), basically all of my fav tropes, because why not, big fat angst with some fluff, don't get your panties in a twist, if that's not your thing just click away, leap year au, still a jonerys story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 07:11:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18244931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofthedragon/pseuds/houseofthedragon
Summary: [au based on the 2010 movie 'leap year']Daenerys decides to propose to her boyfriend, Daario, on the only chance she'll ever get: the Westerosi tradition which says that a woman can ask a man to marry her on the 29th of February. However, a storm unexpectedly ruins her plans and she is left stranded on Winterfell, a small village in the North. An ill-mannered, handsome, quiet and broody Northerner is her last chance to get to her lover in time but the journey is an eye-opener for both of them.





	is it chill that you’re in my head?

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys! so i began writing this a long time ago and finally managed to finish it so here is the full version of a leap year modern au that...nobody asked for. i'm sorry for the grammatical mistakes because there will probably be many (as it's unbeta'd and super long) but i still wanted to give you one of the many one-shots i'm working on. like i said before, i prefer posting only finished works here so it'll take a while for me to pump out these one-shots but just know that i'm working on many (the next one will be a pride & prejudice au idk if there's one already but yeah i just love that idea) and they're all really long so i hope that makes up for the wait! 
> 
> also, sorry there was an error and i accidentally orphaned this work previously so just...ignore that other story lol.
> 
> it doesn't matter if you've never seen leap year btw but if you did then you'll see that most of it matches to the original story, with just a few twists and turns of my own to fit jon and daenerys better.
> 
> happy reading and please, let me know your thoughts. :D

 

* * *

 

 

 

Daario won’t take the fucking hint.

How hard is it, really, to notice that your girlfriend has been _hinting_ at the proposal for quite a while now? She’s done it all: watched really cheesy movies about weddings with him, talked about how nice it would be to have children with her eyes and his hair. Hell, she’s even talked about getting one of her rings fixed but Daario never seems to get what she’s alluding to.

He and Daenerys have grown up together. Their families have been long-time friends. They’ve been high school sweethearts. They’ve had their ups and downs like any other couple but Dany has never doubted their love: they are meant to marry each other. How else would it be? Everything was planned in advance for them, as sure as the constellations in the sky, their love was meant to prevail.

She just wishes he’d ask the damned question already.

“Still no progress?” Rhaella, Daenerys’ mother and confidant, asks over the phone this morning.

“It’s not like we have any progress to make. We’re…peak couple. Right? He just needs to officialise everything. Right? That’s all a marriage is, _right_?” She sounds desperate to her own ears.

“Hon, your father asked me to marry him when we were seventeen, three days after we met.”

“You didn’t until you were twenty-two, though.”

“Yes. But he asked anyway, because he was _that_ sure we were meant to be. You and Daario have everything to be happy. You need to _be_ together! If he won’t ask, then you do.”

“I’m not proposing to Daario, ma!” she complains, biting back a curse as she rummages her bag for her glasses.

“It’s your perfect chance. The leap year is believed to be the only time a woman—”

“—Can propose to a man on the twenty-ninth of February and he has to say yes. Yes. I know. It’s a dumb and old Westerosi tradition no one believes in. Plus I don’t _have_ to do that. He’ll…ask, okay? Today’s the day.” Daenerys inhales contentedly when she finally gets her hands on her reading glasses. The air is sweet and fresh. And today’s a new day. She has no reason to lose hope, victory is nearby. “I can feel it.”

***

Daenerys pulls her hair in a neat bun (just how he likes it) and slips in the most beautiful, sensual, ask-me-to-marry-you-idiot red dress for Daario who invited her over to his place for dinner. It’s an unexpected request and he rarely takes her out on unprompted dates so it _has_ to be meaningful. Dinner must be the code word for proposal.

“Dany,” he answers the door with a confused look. His eyes scan her. “Um…wow. You’re, uh, overdressed.”

Her smile flickers. _He’s just trying to send you off the tracks so it can be a real surprise._ “Do you like it?” she asks innocently.

“Gorgeous,” he comments, pulling her in for a chaste kiss. “Come in. I have to speak with you.”

She straightens herself, heart pounding.

He turns to her and says, casually, “I’m going to Essos for a week.”

The sudden, hot rush of stinging disappointment she feels cannot be put into exact words. It’s too much, just a drop too much. “You’re what?” she asks, blind to her angry tone. Or she doesn’t care for it.

“Essos for a client. Why?”

“Wh—I thought that you were….” She swallows hotly.

“That I was what?” Daario looks at her bizarrely. “You okay, baby?”

She paints a smile back on her face, although her blood is boiling and bubbling underneath her skin. “Great. I think I’ll just head home, I’m tired.”

“You didn’t dress so well to just go home.” He approaches her, kissing her properly. Dany closes her eyes despite herself, reassuring her stubborn mind that they’re in love and that that’s the most crucial thing. “Let’s have dinner and celebrate my departure.”

He kisses her little pout away and she pushes the images of him on his knee far, far back in her head.

***

She makes up her mind the next day when hours after he’s already gone. As the rain splatters against her windshield and she watches an old couple share an ice-cream cone on her way to work, Daenerys sighs to herself. If he won’t take the hint, then she’ll do it herself. Rhaella’s voice sings a dangerous melody in her head, _it’s this year or never_.

She only the necessities.

Her journey is simple: head to the airport, take a flight from Dragonstone to Braavos and Braavos to Essos, surprise him with the proposal and it’ll all be perfect. Sure, it’s not how she would have personally liked it but, hey, when two people are in love it does not matter who takes the big step. All that matters is that it is taken.

***

Her plan’s failure begins shortly after she departs, in Braavos…

“The flight’s cancelled ma’am.”

“What? No, no, no. I have a flight to Essos at three pm—”

“Yes,” the receptionist blankly says, “And it’s cancelled.”

“But why?” she exclaims.

“Have you seen the weather?” the blonde woman deadpans, eyes darting to the big windows that overlook planes and fields.

“It seems…fine to me,” Daenerys says, just a strike of lightning bolts to the ground, thunder following with a tenebrous roar.

The woman blinks.

Daenerys sighs desperately. “Fine…when’s the next flight?”

“Three days.”

“ _What_? How is that possible?”

“Safety first. A storm is coming.” She types something before looking back up at her. “We’ll be refunding your ticket or you could wait for the next flight.”

Daenerys grinds her teeth together. She can’t wait. The tradition is on the 29th of February, not after. “I’ll have the money, thank you.”

Her bag is heavy and hurting her arm as she carries it outside, aimlessly trotting around the colourful streets of Braavos, the umbrella held up doing close to nothing to stop the droplets of rain from splashing on her in all directions due to the winds guiding them.

Her feet are begging to be free from the monstrous heels she’s wearing, a price too high to pay to look pretty. Daenerys has no idea what to do. She still has five days, yes, but she was supposed to be reaching Essos in a few hours and going shopping. She had planned to save these five entire days to make the proposal as special as possible and now she’s stuck in an unknown place, her well-established plans falling apart around her like the rain overhead. 

When she spots the dock and a man loading his boat, she stops walking.

Her mother would always say, if there’s a will there’s a way.

Hesitant at first, Dany soon comes to the conclusion that she has no other option left. If she waits around until the next flight, chances are she’ll miss the only day she can accomplish what she is set out to do or, worse, Daario has already left Essos. With a newfound determination, she runs (as well as she can) to the man in question.

He is older up close, his white hair just a shade lighter than his beard. He is hunched over, picking up packages that he is swiftly hurling onto his boat. And then he sees her shoes. Very slowly, he looks up, a scowl on his face. “May I help you, miss?” He has an accent she’s never heard of before.

“Hello. I’m Daenerys.” She extends her arm with a smile.

He doesn’t even look at her hand.

She awkwardly retracts it. _Great, this’ll be easy!_ “Um, sorry to disturb you, but do you happen to be heading to Essos?”

“Yes!” the man exclaims.

“Really?” She grins.

His face falls back in a stoic mask. “Of course not. Go annoy someone else, ma’am, I’m busy.”

“I’m not trying to annoy you. Please, I – I really need to get to Essos,” she pleads, hating how forlorn her voice is. “I’ll do anything.”

“That’s nice. But I’m heading North.”

She sighs. “I would pay. It’s a special occasion for me and I know I sound irritating but I really, really need your help. You’re my very last chance to get to where I need to be.”

He gives her an ear this time. Pauses and says, “How much you willing to pay, girl?”

“However much you want.”

“Five hundred.”

She doesn’t even flinch at the high price. “Okay.”

“I’ll get you to Winterfell, though.”

“No. I said Essos.”

“Winterfell is in the North so we both win. You can take a plane from there to Essos, it’ll take less than an hour.”

She contemplates it. “How long until we get to Winterfell, though?”

“With this weather…” he trails off, looking up at the dark grey sky, and she can tell it looks like bad news even if the rain has significantly diminished, “four hours.”

She’ll get to Essos by tonight. She’ll still have her full five days, as planned from the start. The downside is that she’ll be on a boat for four hours, with this pitiful weather and her seasickness colliding to surely make it the worst trip of her life but…for Daario it’s worth it. Right?

***

In her dream, he’s asking her to marry him. It’s perfect, as grandiose as she had always expected it to be. All her friends and family are present and the ring is to die for—the diamond huge and shiny.

And then she feels herself being shaken awake, her eyes fluttering open to an unfamiliar frowning face looking down on her, as if testing whether she is dead. She gasps, only to slowly recollect and recognise where she is and who that man is. Davos, she’s learned his name after two hours on that cursed boat. The journey was rough and painful to bear from the very start. She got sick and _wet,_ the rain merciless and the smell of the saltwater triggering her gag reflexes many a time.

“What is it?” she asks, slowly rising from the ball she’s curled herself into to fall asleep. She doesn’t even _remember_ falling asleep, but she must have been so tired she passed out.

“We’re here.”

Daenerys sees the shores of Winterfell, and she hopes that it is only the weather that makes it look so grim and dull. Beaches are supposed to look pretty but this one looks like it has undergone a vacation in hell.

“Six hundred,” Davos says.

She turns back to him. “What? You said five.”

“Changed my mind,” he replies.

Daenerys glares at him. There’s not much she can do. With a muttered curse, she hands him the money. He helps her hop off his boat and onto the sand. Dany looks around unsurely. Winterfell does not seem like a very lively place. As far as she can see, trees and bushes are colouring her view brown and green, and the only sign of human life is what seems like a cottage hundreds of metres away from where she is standing. But then again, it’s night time so everyone is probably sleeping, she assures herself.

“Where is the airport in this place?” she asks aloud and finally turns around to get an answer but Davos has already sailed away, his ship appearing smaller and smaller until it begins to fade out of sight.

Her only answer, it seems, is that cottage.

***

It’s a bar.

_The Night’s Watch._

The name has her furrowing her brow. It’s an old thing, the woodwork dirty and antique-looking, the door handle broken and when she twists it open, a bell rings.

She freezes, meeting the eyes of a ginger man who pauses mid-drinking to look at what caused this disruption.

“Hi,” she says, only noticing the man behind the counter after she’s walked a few steps in. Pushing past chairs and tables, she gets to the men. The boy behind the counter looks around her age. Black hair pulled on top of his head and held together with a piece of black leather, eyes as dark as the gloomy skies outside and a nicely trimmed beard covering his jaw and subsiding down his throat.

He is quite a sight but his expression is as dispiriting as Winterfell.  

The other older man is hairier than the boy who seems to work here, orange hair a contrast to his pale skin. His wide eyes move to the other man and then back to her.

She blinks.

“Hello,” the ginger man greets her. “Here for a drink, aye?”

“No. Actually, I’m looking for directions.”

She fidgets inwardly at the dark-haired man’s stare. He is unflinching and calculated, his eyes observing her but he makes no move to communicate with her. She stands her ground, deciding to speak directly to him anyway. “Can I have the directions to the airport, please?”

Glum boy blinks and after a beat, he and the other man both laugh.

Irritated and weary of her day, Daenerys crosses her arms over her chest. “What’s so funny?” she snaps.

“Miss, what’re you talkin’ about?” The only man who’s spoken so far asks.

“I need to get to the airport. This man…Davos dropped me here and said I could get a flight to Essos and it’d take less than an hour. I need to be there. Can you guys help me?” she goes on to explain.

“Davos.” She is relieved to discover that the black-haired man is not mute. His mouth twists in a mocking grimace. “You trusted Davos fuckin’ Seaworth?”

“What does that mean?” she inquires. “I’m not from here.”

Grey eyes sweep across her frame, too quickly for her to know if it was intentional. He cocks his head to the side. “We can tell,” he says, in that deep, rich voice of his.

“You been fooled, pretty girl,” the other man says, laughing loudly. “He just wanted your money. There ain’t no airport here. This is Winterfell! We don’t even have decent buildings if you can’t tell, who’d build a fuckin’ airport? How much did he take from you?”

She feels so incredibly stupid she wishes to just throw herself in the sea. “Six hundred,” she mumbles, defeated and _exhausted._ God, she’s so tired. She just wants to sleep—on something more stable than that stupid boat. And change her clothes. And wake up realising this was just a big nightmare.

To his credit, at least the ginger has the decency to look sorry. “You've been properly scammed, love.”

Daenerys tries not to decompose. “Can I use your phone, please?” she asks the other guy.

He only nods and points to a telephone hung on the wall. She gives him a little smile before rushing to call Daario. Surely he’ll know what to do to get her out of this mess.

He picks up right away, despite sounding sleepy. “Um, yeah – hello?”

“Daario,” she breathes out, his familiar voice a song to her ears. “You won’t believe where I am.”

“At home binging another one of those medieval TV shows? Wait...this is not your number. It's a foreign number. Dany?”

She chuckles despite herself. “I wish. Listen, I wanted to surprise you in Essos—”

“You’re here?” he asks, excited. “Gods, that’s the best surprise ever!”

She sighs. “I’m not in Essos, though. Long story. I’m stuck in Winterfell.”

“Oh. Well, when are you getting here?”

“I don’t know! I have no idea where to go from here.”

“Babe, relax,” he says – easy for him to do so; he’s probably in a luxurious hotel room, while she is drenched, alone and has just been fooled by a fisherman. “Just get some sleep and tomorrow we’ll talk and figure something out together.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, we’ll get you here. Don’t worry.”

“Okay…I guess. Good night, Daario.”

“Night. I love you.”

She smiles. “Love you too.”

As she makes her way back to the front, she sees the ginger man leave. Alone with the broody man, she feels uncharacteristically nervous. He is cleaning up the tables, not paying her much attention. Very helpful. “Um, can you tell me if there’s a hotel nearby?”

He does not stop his task to answer her. “Other than the one you’re currently in? Nope.”

“I thought this was a bar.”

“A bar, a hotel, my house.” He spares her a bored look. “It’s everything.”

“How much for the night?”

“Are you sure you’ll be able to afford anythin’ after today?” he asks and it would have almost seemed like a genuine question if not for the mocking, sarcastic tone.

“Yes.” She grits her teeth. “I have no choice.”

He finally quits cleaning the dirt-free chairs and faces her. “Fifty a night.”

A lot cheaper than she expected but from the look of this place, she wasn’t really setting the bar too high. “I’ll take a room.”

As he goes to fetch her a key, she wonders, “how do I get from here to Essos?”

He takes a beat. “There’s a train station.”

Dany exhales in relief. “Great. At least it’s not a lost case,” she says aloud.

  He (literally) throws her a key, catching her off-guard as her reflexes thankfully enable her to catch it just in time.

 “Can I know your name?” she blurts. In her mind, she keeps calling her dark-haired guy or broody guy and it’s getting annoying.

He stares at her for a moment, as if really thinking this through. “Jon,” he states and walks away, ordering her to follow him with his hand.

Daenerys picks up her bag and tells him, “I’m Daenerys,” even if he never asked.

***

“This is your room.”

Jon flicks on the lights and Daenerys does her best not to show how horrified she feels inside. This bedroom is…a mess. The curtains are torn, the _small_ bed covered in a dusty sheet takes up half of the room and just as she believes it couldn’t get worse, Jon mutters, “Be careful of the rats.”

 “Rats?” she emphasises on the ‘s’. “So not just one?”

“Usually two on a good day,” he answers nonchalantly.

“Now I understand the cost,” she grumbles. “How many clients do you get?”

 “Two on a good day.”

She rolls her eyes. “Thank you…Jon.” She decides that she is no one to judge him or his business. At least she’s sleeping on something solid and not floating on water. She’ll be gone first thing tomorrow and she’ll never hear about Jon or Winterfell or the Night’s Watch again.

He shrugs and traces back his steps away.

Dany drops her bag on the floor, her shoulders and back aching for relief. Reaching up, she undoes her braids, much to the pleasure of her scalp.

 _It’s worth it,_ she singsongs to herself as she dusts off the bed before lying down, staring at the ceiling that has obviously leaked water before by the looks of it. _You’re doing this for love._

_***_

Daenerys wakes up feeling distraught. It takes her brain a moment to catch up with reality, to understand why she is not opening her eyes to the purple clock in her room or to the sound of her phone ringing.

Instead, she wakes up in the same nightmare-inducing room she somehow managed to fall asleep in and also to the scent of…bacon. Her stomach grumbles and if it had hands, it would have physically slapped her for ignoring its needs for so long. She hasn’t eaten anything since she left the airport in Braavos. She gets up and takes a very quick shower in what she believes they call a bathroom here – she won’t get into the details of why she doesn’t think it’s one but seriously, it can’t be one! Her blue floral dress reminds her of home: Dragonstone, her friends and family and happiness. Not this…grisly place with moody people.

“Goodbye,” she talks to the room. “I hope I never see you again,” she tells it and just as she shuts the door, she jumps in surprise to see Jon just behind her. “Seven bloody hells!” she curses.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you like some more time to say a proper goodbye to the room?” he asks coolly.

Heat blooms in her cheeks. “No,” she answers, failing to come up with a witty response. “Where’s the train station?”

He looks confused for a second, as if he forgot the conversation they had last night. Finally, he offers, “Far.”

“How far?”

 “You won’t get there by foot if that’s what you’re wonderin’.”

“I—” She huffs. “Whatever. I’ll just ask Daario,” she says, mostly to herself. “Did I smell bacon a few minutes ago?” she blurts, too hungry to care about being a walking embarrassment. She has already embarrassed herself enough already. She came in yesterday drenched to her bones, she admitted to being scammed and he just caught her talking to a room. Go figure. 

He quirks a thick brow. “You’ll have to pay.”

She presses her lips in a thin line. “Of course I will.”

So he follows her back to the bar part of this…this _thing._ Hotel, bar, his house…whatever. She sees the man from last night again, stuffing his mouth with bacon. Mouthful, he grins at her. “You still here? She still here, Snow?”

Dany frowns. His name is Jon…Snow?

“She’s leavin’,” he answers, “after breakfast.”

 Ginger laughs. “I’m Tormund, by the way, didn’t get the chance to introduce myself last night. Was wasted. And you, love?”

“Daenerys.” She smiles politely.

“De-ney-rys?”

 She chuckles. “No…it’s—” she shakes her head, “you know what? Call me Dany.”

“Well, Dany, you should try Snow’s tea before you leave. Only two things in the world I love the most: my wife Brienne and Jon’s tea!” He laughs at his own words, “but don’t ask me for the order!”

“Are you by any chance going to that train station?” she asks, hopeful.

Tormund gives her an apologetic smile. “Ah, I’m sorry miss. I work here. The station’s too far up North.”

Dany wants to scream. Can one thing go right in this godforsaken trip she took?

“I hope you’ll get to where you need to be, miss Dany.” Tormund nods at her and says goodbye to Jon before walking out.

Daenerys eats her breakfast (and Tormund was not wrong, Jon makes terrific tea—and bacon and eggs) like a woman starved.

“Can I use the phone one last time?” she asks, placing down the empty cup on the counter.

“It’ll all be in the bill, don’t worry,” he says.

She dismisses his dry tone and dials Daario’s number. The phone makes a weird buzzing sound. She scowls. “Why’s it not working?” she asks.

“Probably due to the weather,” Jon answers.

She sets the device back into place with a bit too much force. Who can blame her for being angry at this point, really? Only then she remembers having had the opportunity to charge her phone last night. With a sigh of relief, she flips it out of her bag but, as expected, there is no signal. And no missed calls. Or messages.

“Has anyone called for me this morning?” she asks Jon.

“No.”

Daario just forgot about her entirely. Great. A part of her mind sides with him, reasoning that he must be busy. He is a lawyer, after all, and his trip was meant to be work-oriented. It is on her for having the wild idea to follow him. Yet, her selfish heart feels disappointed. He could’ve called. He knew her situation and promised he’d help.

 Dany shakes her head. She has no time to ponder about whether or not to be mad at her boyfriend—she needs to get the hell out of this place.

“How much for my stay and the breakfast?” she finally settles on asking.

“And the phone call,” he supplies. “A total of—”

 “SNOW! Snow, get the fuck out of there.”

 Daenerys startles and Jon is quick to react, scrambling out like a madman. Confused, Daenerys slowly follows him.

 A van has parked just in front of the Night’s Watch and a man hops out. He’s slim and tall and has the customary Northern (his is white) beard that she assumes everyone here just has. Even if she’s met only two - now, three - Northerners so far.

“Alliser.” Jon’s voice is more tense than it usually is. “What is it?”

“You fuckin’ with me, kid?” The man—Alliser—growls. “When’re you payin’?”

 Jon speaks calmly, gently but his voice has an irritated edge to it. “I told you, at the end of the month—”

Alliser makes a gurgling sound and spits on the ground. Dany scrunches up her nose. “I ain’t askin’ for excuses, boy. I’ll be here collectin’ the money in _two_ weeks or you get the fuck outta here and find a new job. And a place to stay.” Daenerys freezes when his harsh eyes meet hers. “You tellin’ me you out here fuckin’ pretty ladies but can’t pay rent? Over my dead body, Snow. Two weeks, aye? Or you’re out.”

Daenerys is slow to process things here, it seems, especially with their accents and all. But she almost doubles over as the man leaves and she finally understands what he just said. “Excuse me, you prick! How dare you speak like this to a _woman_ that you clearly don’t kn—” A whiff of dust caused by the wheels of his van reaches her nostrils and he is already gone, not having listened to a word she just uttered.

“Ill-mannered brutes in this place,” she huffs to herself.

When she seeks Jon’s reaction, he’s already stormed back inside. Daenerys is on her heels, more eager than ever to just go. “Hey, the price….” She stops mid-sentence, feeling like she is watching something she shouldn’t. Jon is sat down, elbows on the surface of a table, his face buried in his hands.

He looks up and Daenerys sees the hard lines of his face, the shadows underneath his eyes. Clearly, this little encounter has shaken him up. He clears his throat. “Right…the price,” he mumbles.

 “Hey,” she says suddenly, “Could you get me to the train station?”

 Jon looks befuddled and then, pissed off. “Who do you think you are? I’m not gettin’ you anywhere, woman. Pay me and _leave_.”

“I’ll pay you,” she says, smiling, ignoring how rude he is—always been. “That’s the point! I’ll pay you however much money you need to repay that asshole. In return, you just have to get me to the train station.”

“No.”

She gapes at him. “You can’t be serious. I’m offering you money to solve your _money_ problems. What’s not clicking?”

Jon watches her, eyes as intense as the weather. “I can’t trust you, foreign girl.”

“Please! This place is the sketchiest thing ever and you can’t trust _me_ , Northern…” she tries to come up with an insult to match his but only splutters out, “idiot!”

Jon’s lips twitch (bold of her to assume he will give her a full smile) as he scans her face. After a pregnant pause, he declares, “You’ll have to pay me for both the trip _and_ your stay here.”

Her body feels lighter. “I will,” she replies.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” She almost shrieks in disbelief.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, _okay._ We’re leavin’ in ten minutes, foreign girl.”

***

 _Of course_ Jon Snow owns a bike. Not like she was expecting _anything_ normal to come out of this whole mess at this point. A car? Oh no! Silly girl, where does she think she is? This is the North, apparently. Where the men have long beards and gruff accents and always seem pissed off (except Tormund). She couldn’t possibly except anything other than this big, black motorcycle, a grey wolf imprinted on the seat.

To top things off, out of the freaking blue, a _huge_ beast comes out of the bushes, darting towards them.

Daenerys yells.

Jon jumps.

The _thing_ stops, head tilting to the side as it stares at Dany.

“What is this?” she cries.

“Seven hells, woman!” Jon scolds. “It’s my dog.”

“That’s not a dog!” Daenerys informs him in a high-pitched voice. “Th-that’s a…monster.”

The dog barks and she almost starts crying. She does _not_ want to die here, on this lonely beach, her remains devoured by a beast.

Jon stares at her incredulously before _smirking_. “You sure? Ghost, sit boy.” The white beast plops himself in a sitting stance, all innocent and pretty. Daenerys is immediately relieved. “See? He’s not that scary. Plus you look alike, so.”

“Did you just say I look like your monstrous dog?” she asks.

“The hair matches,” he answers, hurling her bag on top of his bike and attaching it in place.

He throws her a helmet (he likes throwing her things, huh?) and hops on the vehicle as he puts his own on.

“Thanks for helping me,” she says as she lifts her short dress awkwardly, slinging her leg to the other side and sitting down. She feels unbalanced immediately and inadvertently grabs onto his waist for stability. A passing thought of how hard the sides of his stomach feel occurs to her.

“Ghost will guide us,” Jon says to her and to his dog, “Won’t you, buddy?”

“In what world does a dog guide— _ah!_ ” Jon does not seem to care much about what she has to say and in a sudden jerk, they’re flying away. No, they’re just moving but it takes her aback the same way flying probably would’ve.

True to his words, Jon’s special companion is running in front of them, his tongue out to taste the wind.

“How long will it take us to get there?” she yells.

“I don’t know,” he says.

***

“Wait, why are we stopping?”

“There are cows on the road.”

Daenerys looks over his head to discover that he is not lying. There are at least ten cows crowding the road and it does not appear like they are planning to move anytime soon.

“Amazing. I’m _so_ lucky to have been stranded in Winterfell out of every other normal place in the entire world,” she complains, hopping off the bike in an angry motion that leaves her unstable and lightheaded.

“Then why are you here?” Jon retorts, surprising her. He doesn’t ever seem to pay much mind to her but now it looks like she has flipped a switch. Not the good kind of switch, though. He also gets off the motorcycle, dark eyes haunting her. “I’ve never met someone nearly as annoyin’ as you. You complain about everythin’! And you don’t even _know_ real-life problems. Missing a flight and not getting to where you want is not half as bad as what most people go through. And Winterfell’s not to blame for your shitty luck.”

This is the longest he’s ever spoken and, unsurprisingly, it’s to call her out on her complaints. Which, to her, seem very fair given her situation. She puts some distance between her and Jon, while also not getting near the cows. “You don’t know me,” she snarls, “You don’t know what I’ve been through. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. His broad chest. Glowering at her, he enunciates, “None of us ask to be stuck in annoying situations, miss Foreign, but we do. I am stuck with you. So, toughen up.”

“Tough—” She laughs sarcastically. “I just said you don’t know me or what I’ve been through. Would you say the same thing if I was a man or is your asshole _ness_ reserved just for women?”

The obnoxious man rolls his eyes. “That’s not a word. And yes, I would treat you the same way if you were a man or a cat, for all I care. I’m doin’ you a favour, stop actin’ like it’s my fault we’re here right now. Or Winterfell’s fault.”

“It’s not a favour if I’m paying you,” she sneers.

“It’s a favour given I have to deal with you the whole time.”

Her breath catches in her throat. “Jon.”

“Don’t pull those big eyes on me. I don’t care if I’ve hurt your feelings saying the truth.”

“No! The bike!”

Jon swivels on his feet but it is too late. They’re on a sloppy road, a descent, and it’s already gained momentum, heading down the road at almost full speed.

“Oh fuck,” Jon mutters, running after it but held dead in his tracks as it heads for the cows.

Dany closes her eyes but the cows have pretty good reflexes and they move aside and, as if this day could not get worse, the motorcycle diverges its path down the end of the road and heads straight for the muddy lake on its left.

She gasps. “My bag!” she yells.

“My bike,” Jon echoes.

By the time Jon has reached it, the black vehicle is already being pulled down deeper and deeper by the murky body of water.

Jon runs a hand down his face. He looks up to the skies. “Is this a joke?” he mutters, disheartened.

“Please get my bag.” She panics.

Jon glares at her. And takes one threatening step in her direction. “Get it yourself,” he grits out, in a low and dangerous voice, before stalking off.

Daenerys stares at him, unbelieving, but he’s already walking away with his fists clenched.

She stares at the drowning bike, noticing that her bag is still up there and hasn’t been ruined yet. She bends over and begins to take off her heels, but just in time hears a bark. Startled, she looks to her right and sees Ghost sprinting for the muddy pool. Her jaw drops as he effortlessly hops in, moving his four legs to advance and get her precious bag. She is flabbergasted by the whole scene. The big, white dog bites down on the handle and drags it out.

Daenerys decides to help him out, she comes as close as she can to retrieve it from his mouth and slumps down on the ground with her now dirtied bag. But it doesn’t matter. 

Ghost is taller than her when she’s in a sitting position and his big, smiley-looking face is just in front of hers as he pants.

She cracks a smile. “I’m sorry for insulting you,” she says, “You’re a good boy.” She pats the top of his head in a gentle but hesitant caress. When Ghost leans further into her hand, her smile deepens and she pets him with more confidence.

“Ghost.” A gruff, now recognisable, voice says.

Ghost lowers his head away from her hand and runs to its owner.

Jon looks down disapprovingly. “Look at you,” he complains, “All dirty now. And for what?” He glares in her direction.

Daenerys frowns as she gets up. “It’s not my fault.”

“It’s not your fault?” he chuckles dryly. “If you sat your pretty arse instead of gettin’ up to complain about _how unfair the world is_ —” Yes, he mimics her voice in a rather exaggerated and inaccurate manner, “—we would’ve just waited for the damned cows and got goin’. But no.”

“I didn’t ask you to follow me just to start an argument.”

“I was tired of your shit, there’s only so much a man can take.”

She lets out a ragged breath. “You know what? I’ll just walk on my own, thank you very much.” She gives him a pointed look before walking right past him, along the rocky roads. There is only one path to follow – more like a trail, really – and on either side of the road, there is either a bunch of trees and plants or lakes and ponds, so it can’t be that hard to just keep moving. There is a farm right ahead; when she’ll get there she’ll ask for directions. Or better yet, she can find someone to get her to the train station. Whatever it will be, she’s done trying to work with this prick.

“Not this fast, sunshine,” he drawls behind her, but she keeps walking. “You owe me money.”

She closes her eyes impatiently and turns around. “Fine. I’ll give you your stupid money.”

“Wait,” he says, sighing. “What’re you doin’? You don’t know where you need to go.”

“I’ll figure it out,” she snaps, rummaging through her bag for her purse. “I’ll ask for help in that farm.”

“Okay. Let me walk you there, maybe I can get help for my bike too.”

She squints her eyes suspiciously at him, slowly closing her bag. “Fine but don’t talk to me.”

Jon lifts his hands up in mock defence. Dany decides to play it his way - she ignores his entire existence. 

***

“Why’re you so determined to get to Essos?”

Daenerys’ skin is prickling under the sun. She’s never felt so hot in her life. Just yesterday, it was raining cats and dogs and now, the sun has taken its throne in the sky and planning to make her sweat her life out.

She wipes a finger above her brow, collecting moisture. “I thought I told you not to speak to me,” she says, eyes focused on the farm.

Jon stays quiet.

But then the walk is getting exhausting. Her muscles are going crazy, sending signals of pain all through her body. And sweat is dribbling down her chest, forehead and arms. Daenerys sighs.

“You look like you’re gonna pass out,” he notes.

She doesn’t answer.

When her vision blurs, however, she accepts defeat with open arms. “I need to sit,” she breathes out heavily.

“There’s a rock right here,” Jon informs her and she almost collapses on the uneven, hard surface.

She looks up at Jon and scowls. “How…are you so…fine?” she stammers.

Jon blinks twice. “You were just insultin’ me and now you’re callin’ me fine?” His eyes twinkle. “Women,” he mutters.

Daenerys wants to slap him sometimes. “Not _that_ kind of fine…idiot. You’re not even sweating and I could fill up a pool,” she explains.

“I live here, foreign girl. I’m used to the scorching sun and the endless winters. And the storms in between.” Jon looks around fondly. “It’s home.”

Dany swallows. “Look,” she says, “I’m sorry for being a…bitch about this situation earlier. You were right, it’s not your fault or Winterfell’s fault that I am here.”

Jon nods comprehensively. “And I apologise for bein’ rude to you.”

She accepts his apology, smiling a bit. “I’m heading for Essos to propose to my boyfriend.”

Jon looks at her like she’s gone insane. “What?”

“It’s a Westerosi tradition,” she says, “that says the woman can propose on the leap day and technically he cannot say no.”

“Sure.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

She narrows her eyes at him. “It is true!”

“Okay,” he says, once more not sounding the littlest bit honest. “Whatever you say, foreign girl.”

Daenerys rolls her eyes. “I have a name, you know.” Even when it seems they are getting along (or just starting to become civil to each other), he has to ruin it with that stupid name.

His lips lift. “I know. We should get goin’ now.”

She drinks some water (he declines her offer and says he is not thirsty) and they are back on the road, Ghost trailing along and often peeing in the bushes before hopping out.

She lets the silence stretch on, because it’s peaceful and allows her time to think about everything that has happened to her so far. Not the trip she’d hoped for. And not the companion— _companions_ —she’d expected. But soon, she’ll be with Daario. And this will all have been a forgotten nightmare, perhaps a funny tale she’ll tell her mother and friends.

“We’re almost there,” Jon says.

“Look, there’s a sign. Maybe it tells us who the owners are or something,” she says, pointing to the board excitedly.

Ghost runs towards it and barks, wagging his tail as if to tell them to hurry up.

“We don’t have four legs,” she groans, her entire body turning against her and hurting in all the worst places.

Jon reaches it first and his shoulders slump down as he reads what’s written on it.

“Oh no,” Dany whines, “I can’t deal with more bad news.”

She approaches it just as Jon begins to tell her what’s written and she gets to witness it for herself. “The owners are only here on Sundays,” he says.

Daenerys drops, hands clutching her knees as she catches her breath. “It’s still Tuesday.”

“I know. No luck around here, it seems,” Jon says. “My friend, Sam, lives thirty minutes away, though. He could come help us get my bike, he’s a mechanic. And then I’ll get you to the station.”

“Thirty minutes?” she asks, shaking her head immediately. “I can barely go on for two more minutes. And then come back here, _again_? No, thank you.”

“You’re being overdramatic. Rest a bit and you’ll be ok,” Jon tells her, eyeing her bizarrely.

“It’s not gonna work. I’ll never reach Essos on time.”

“I’m not goin’ to leave my bike here and not do anythin’ about it. I’m going to Sam’s. You can stay here and whine all you wish,” he tells her.

“You’re so goddamned infuriating,” she sneers.

 Jon’s eyes turn a shade darker when he is angry. “We’re on the same page on that,” he states. “Gods, I should have never even considered helpin’ you.”

“And I should’ve never stepped in your _stupid_ bar.” She is yelling now, her vision red. “You…you…rude man!”

“Rude man,” he repeats in a mocking tone. “Did it take a long while to work the wheels in your pretty head to come up with this, hm?”

A retort is hot on her tongue when, all of a sudden, she hears the distinguishable sound of a car’s engine. Swirling on her feet, Daenerys’ irritation is mitigated at the sight of a white van heading down the road they’re currently on. She secures her bag in her hand and turns to him. “Good luck, Mr Snow. I think I’ll be good on my own now.”

Jon crosses his arms over his chest, jaw tight. “You don’t even know who they are.” He is calm now, despite having just been shouting at her moments ago.

She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know you either,” she establishes and holds her thumb out to the road, shaking it to emphasise her desperation for a ride.

The vehicle slows down to a full stop next to her, a man rolling down the window and spitting out a gum before grinning at her. He is missing a front tooth. “Hello darlin’, what can I do for you?”

Daenerys ignores the creepy tone and the way the man in the passenger seat is staring at her breasts.

“I actually need a ride. To, um, the train station. I’ll pay,” she says sweetly.

“Oh! You heard her, Barry? She’ll pay!” He laughs, the sound ugly. “Don’t keep the lady waitin’, son. Go help her with that bag.”

The other, younger boy – Barry – obliges. Daenerys gladly lets him take her bag and turns to Jon victoriously, quirking a brow. “See? Not everyone in the North is a stuck-up asshole like you.”

Jon raises both eyebrows, observing her. “Oh, yeah? They’re—”

“No, no, no. _You_ listen to me, now. I’m not gonna lie and say I had a nice trip with you, because I didn’t. You were ill-mannered from the beginning. What would it have cost you to be nice to me?” She huffs. “But, whatever. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you for the night if that’s what y—"

“Daenerys.”

She stops babbling on. This is the first time he’s used her name. It’s weird in that rough accent of his, the three syllables coated in that dark, rough voice. She frowns. “Oh, so _now_ you’re done with ‘foreign girl’? I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You’ll pay me, aye?”

“Yes.”

“How?” he asks, lips thinning. “They’re robbing your bag.”

Her frown deepens. “They—” Eyes wide, she turns around and Barry is sliding the door of the van shut, her bag _inside._

The toothless idiot laughs like a hyaena again. “See you around!”

Daenerys is still gaping at them as they drive away and as she rushes behind them effortlessly, the effort getting too tiring after just four steps. “No,” she cries to herself, desperately looking at Ghost. “Could you catch them?” she asks.

Ghost growls at her before sitting next to Jon’s feet.

“He won’t do anythin’ for you anymore,” Jon enunciates. “Dogs are loyal beasts. Especially his breed. You were just planning to leave and he sensed it, you’re no longer someone he trusts.” He smiles, all wicked. As Jon begins to slowly walk towards her, Daenerys maintains her ground, but inside she’s yelling at herself, frustrated at how thickheaded she’s been. He stops just a few centimetres away from her and she has to lift her head to meet his eyes. Oh, they’re so dark the grey is almost an illusion now. “But you’re good on your own now, right?” he whispers menacingly, his breath fanning over her cheek as he walks right past her, leaving her in her deplorable state.

***

 

She does not _want_ to apologise.

But if she doesn’t, she’ll be left stranded next to an abandoned farm in a place she does not know the slightest about. 

“Hey,” she says softly, walking up next to him.

Jon ignores her. And so does Ghost.

She sighs. “Okay, listen…I’m sorry. I should not have just chosen to flee instead of listening to you. You’re still my guide and if you believe that we should go to your friend’s house then I’ll stick to that.”

“You’re just sayin’ that because you have no other choice, silly girl.” He speeds up.

She clenches her teeth. “I know. I admit that, too. I saw an easy way out with that van but I should have listened to you instead, alright?”

No answer.

“And I should trust your judgement. You know this place better than I do.”

No response.

Daenerys sighs. “And I guess I deserve this. I was about to leave you and Ghost, even if I’m—” She cringes to herself, hating to admit it, “—partly the reason why we don’t have your bike anymore. I was selfish and now I’ve lost my bag.”

And then it hits her. Her _bag_. She’s lost her bag. Not any bag, but _that_ one. Gone, in the hands of some idiots who will probably sell it, along with her purse and phone and clothes. But most importantly, her bag.

Daenerys’ steps slow down as the realisation begins to taunt her, her chest heaving, heart twisting. “I’m such a fool,” she tells herself, angry and upset and _hurting_ both physically and emotionally.

Jon eventually replies, in a cold tone, “I would have to agree.” And then, “No retort to that?” Also: “I’m willing to forgive you only because you haven’t paid yet.”

When Jon begins to find her silence unnatural, he turns around. He’s already at least ten feet ahead of her. He squints his eyes, walking back in her direction. “Are you crying?”

“No.” She chokes on a pitiful sob. “I’m not.”

He mutters what sounds like a prayer before closing the distance between them. “Are you seriously crying?” he asks, unsure. “I forgive you, okay? It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I’m not crying because of you,” she informs him, glaring at him, “I’m crying because of…of my bag.”

Jon’s face falls. “Of course,” he says, voice hard again. “Why am I not surprised?” he asks to the skies.

“You don’t understand.”

“Oh, you’ll try to explain why a bag is worth crying over?”

“Yes, it’s worth crying over. My brother gave me that bag before he died.” The words sting her throat, but she spits them out anyway. “You don’t have to be a jerk about everything I say. I take my apology back. Go to hell.”

She pushes past his shoulder meaningfully but hears him approach not even a few seconds later. “Hey,” he says. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she says, sniffing. “But you decide to be an ass either way.”

She should’ve stayed home, she thinks reproachfully. She should have waited for Daario. He would have to ask eventually. But no, she’s stubborn and impatient and now she’s a crying mess, in some sort of abandoned village with a stranger in front of her, who thinks she is some privileged rich girl with worms for brains. 

“You can’t blame me. I’ve never met someone quite like you before.”

If he thinks he’s making things better, he’s wrong. Dany wipes away her tears with the back of her hand. She can’t believe she’s lost Rhaegar’s bag.

“Why did you bring somethin’ so important with you?” Jon asks.

She glowers at him. “Because this trip was supposed to be _important_. I was supposed to be with Daario. Asking him to marry me. This was meant to be special and that bag is supposed be good luck but look at me.” More tears fall, even if she tells herself she’s done crying. “I’m a big mess. Everything’s ruined. It’s all my fault.”

Jon awkwardly touches her shoulder. “It’ll be okay. Sam will help you get to the station, he loves helpin’ people.”

She hides her face behind her hands, saying nothing.

Jon sighs. This seems very difficult for him. “Listen,” he tells her quietly, squeezing her shoulder, “I know this hasn’t been the best journey of your life so far but I swear I’m willin’ to make an effort now onwards if you will, too. I don’t want you to be…miserable because of me. Hell, I don’t want either of us to be more miserable than we already are. I get it, we’re both tired and don’t know each other and we just want to get this over with. Can we call it a truce? For the sake of not making this harder than it has to be?”

She looks at him between her fingers and he’s staring down at her with those big, concerned eyes. She finally lets her hands down, licking her lips and tasting her own tears on them. “You’re not very good at cheering people up,” she mumbles, half-joking.

“Well thankfully I don’t have to do that a lot in my daily life.” He drops his reassuring hand from her shoulder and holds it in front of her instead. “What do you, truce?”

“You’ll stop calling me ‘foreign girl’,” she says.

His lips twitch in an almost smile. “You’ll stop disagreeing with everything I say. And you won’t try to run away with some complete strangers when you don’t know better.”

She bites her lip. “I guess I could do that.”

He moves his hand to get her attention and she finally cracks, gripping it to give him a handshake which completes the truce. His hand is warm against hers, much bigger, and calloused. It feels weird yet comforting. She retracts hers before it is long enough to be weird.

Just as her hand falls back to her side, she feels something warm on her skin. Looking down, she finds that Ghost has decided to forgive her too—licking her palm as if it’s the tastiest thing in the world. “I guess we’re on good terms too now, hm?” she coons, rubbing the top of his head as Ghost closes his eyes in delight.

 Daenerys chuckles. “How long have you had this dog?” she asks, to start a conversation and hopefully distract herself from her sadness and how she’s been careless enough to let Rhaegar’s gift slip away from her—forever.

“Oh, Ghost?” Jon hums. “Since he was a pup. My stepfather got a bunch of ‘em for his kids, he’d found the dogs in a ditch near our house at the time, but he picked an extra one without realising. The others were all black and big but Ghost…he was alone, little, quiet and so very white. So, I kept him. He kind of reminded me of myself. Being an outcast and all. And he’s outlived them all.”

She frowns. “You mean he’s outlived his brothers and sisters?”

“And mine,” he supplies.

She dares a look at him and his eyes are straight ahead, seemingly unaffected by his own words. “I’m sorry…that’s—”

“Don’t say sorry for something you didn’t do and couldn’t have known about,” he cuts her off. After a beat, he adds, “they’ve died in a fire. All of ‘em. My stepfather, his kids…their dogs. And I would’ve died too. If it wasn’t for this champ right there.” As if he couldn’t be any smarter, Ghost looks up at them just then, as if he knows they’re talking about him. “He woke me up before I suffocated and I had the chance to run out. Couldn’t save much, though. The farm burned down. And our house too. The Night’s Watch survived and I was so grateful but that was four years ago. Now I’m wonderin’ if it would’ve been better if it burned down too.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Well, I can’t pay for it anymore. The people love that bar, aye, but Winterfell is a small place and without a farm around here, it’s hard to make a living.”

She licks her lip and tastes her own sweat. God, she’s really hot. “That sounds really difficult,” she tells him truthfully, “all you’ve been through, I mean.”

“Some people have it worse.”

“And you have it worse than most,” she responds. “So you’ve been living alone?”

“Yes and no. I was alone for a while. The town is very generous. They collected enough money for me to fix the house. What was left of it anyway. But my father owed Alliser Thorne money so I had no choice but to give him the house.”

“And you still haven’t entirely repaid him,” she states, understanding. “That’s why he’s—”

“Asking money from the Night’s Watch, yes.” Jon exhales tiredly. “I’m almost done repaying him but he wants too much money too soon. I won’t be able to give it back to him in just two weeks. If I don’t, he’ll have the Night’s Watch.”

“That’s tough,” she admits.

“In a way it’s freeing. I’ll get to start afresh.” Jon takes a beat before saying, “Nah, I’m just kiddin’. It’d be fuckin’ awful.”

Daenerys chuckles despite herself.

Jon takes a quick glance in her direction. “This is the first time I’ve seen you smile sincerely since yesterday.”

“Well it’s not like _someone_ was giving me plenty of reasons to laugh,” she accusingly declares.

Jon laughs, too. Not sarcastically like when they were arguing but a genuine, warm laugh that only lasts for about five seconds but manages to convince her that maybe this won’t end so terribly, after all.

***

It turns out that good company makes all the difference in a long, perilous walk. Before, even the bike ride was painful for Dany because she could not quite grasp Jon Snow and his moodiness. Now, however…well, she still can’t quite understand this walking convolution _but_ they are not yelling at each other or trying to find petty comebacks. They’re talking. Quietly. _Pleasantly._

It makes all the difference in the universe.

Ten minutes dissolve into what seems like only three minutes in her head and, yes, her muscles are still killing her but that is not the only thing she is focusing on. She’s even managed to push the thought of her lost bag far, far back in her head.

Instead, she is listening to him and his stories. Whenever they pass a house or a field, he’ll try to tell her about its origins. She’s learned more about medicinal plants with him than she has in Biology classes. Apparently, Winterfell is known for its high growth of the latter and if Dany had her phone, she would have succumbed to the urge of taking pictures of the large expanses of land used just for these plants. It's not something people in Dragonstone have ever seen, she is sure of that. 

“We’re almost at Sam’s house. But first, are you hungry?”

“Are you kidding me?” She practically melts at just the idea of feeding her poor stomach. “I could eat a cow right now.”

He looks at her for a second before shaking his head. “You’re from Dragonstone, hm?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Nothing. Just wonderin’ if all the girls there are as crazy as you.”

She smiles. “You have no bloody idea, Jon Snow.”

“There, look.” He points to what looks like a restaurant.

If she could teleport to that place, she would. But all she can do is walk faster. “Hot Pie’s,” she reads when she is close enough to do so. “What’s this place?”

“The guy, called Hot Pie, makes hot pies.”

She rolls her eyes. “I should’ve known.”

Jon holds out his hand in front of her and she almost falls over at the sudden stop. Frowning, she inquires, “What’s wrong?”

“Look at the van,” he says cautiously.

Daenerys does what she’s told, her pulse quickening. In the wrong way.

“The thieves.”

***

“Hey, maybe you should think this through.”

Daenerys barely flinches at his words, tautly heading for the door to the pie shop—where she has some serious unfinished business to take care of.

“I thought we were goin’ to listen to each other from now,” Jon talks again and this gives her pause.

She turns to face him, “I _am_ listening to you. But not on this.” She takes a step towards him, her eyes pleading him to understand her point. “I won’t stand for injustice. Especially not when it concerns me. That’s not how I was raised.”

He searches her eyes, his grey irises paler now that he is calmer. But the crease in his forehead indicates he is concerned. “I get that the bag is important to you but…do you even know what you’re goin' to do in there? Or how they’ll react?”

“No,” she answers truthfully. “But I’m going to walk out of this place with my belongings one way or another.”

He does not protest this time but makes no move to be on her side, either.

It’s fine, she thinks despite the sting of disappointment, it’s not his fight. “I’ll be back. And then we can get some pies.”

Jon says nothing and she takes it as her cue to leave. Walking inside, she is instantly thrown off by the smell of strawberry, lemon and coffee. Her stomach awakens with a growl but she refuses to act upon this at the moment. First, her bag.

She spots the two clowns immediately. They are the only customers in this place. And on their table—her precious bag: opened and being rummaged through by their dirty hands.

“This is where you come to examine what you’ve stolen for the day?” she asks, making her presence known.

The toothless man looks up, eyes only momentarily widening before a stupid smirk replaces his shocked look. “Oh, sweetheart. You followed us? Gotta give it to her, son, she really wants that bag.”

The younger boy chuckles, mindlessly going through her clothes.

She is practically fuming. “Hey. Get your hands off of that!”

“Oh, is that yours?” he asks, holding up her favourite lace red bra. (She was supposed to wear this for Daario!) “I bet your tits would look great in that.”

Her cheeks heat with embarrassment and thick, red anger. “I bet you two would look great behind bars,” she retorts. Which, admittedly, sounded better in her head.

The ugly man throws his head back in laughter. “Feisty little one, huh?”

“Give it back to me,” she says calmly. “If you want money, then take all I have. But please hand me my bag.”

They exchange a look, interest piqued. They obviously only need the money, not knowing the importance of the bag itself to her.

“Fine,” Barry drawls, “We’ll give you your stupid bag, lass.”

She relaxes.

“If you wear this for us and give us a little show,” he finishes, tossing the bra at her feet.

Daenerys remains rooted in her spot, beyond aggravated and furious.

“If you don’t return her the bag,” a new voice interjects, “then you’ll be the only one wearin’ that.”

Daenerys looks up, her relief at the sight of Jon now standing next to her inexplicably immense. And behind him, Ghost is already in an attack position, hackles raised. She cannot even fight off the smile that automatically forms on her lips.

The two are no longer messing around, both of them tensing up.

“Shut up, boy.” Toothless gets up. “Why are you goin’ around defending some pretty pale foreign whore? Look how much money she has. We can all share.”

Jon’s jaw tightens. “I said,” he repeats, in that gold-melting voice of his, “Give her the bag. I won’t say it again.”

“Then don’t say it,” Barry declares bravely, running at Jon with a scream.

Jon blocks his punch easily and twists his arm in a way that has Daenerys cringing. The boy cries out in agony and Jon kneels him in the stomach. Meanwhile, Ghost has already very slowly begun approaching the other man, his teeth bared in a low, rumbling and threatening snarl.

He takes the bag and throws it at Daenerys before running out like a coward. Daenerys faintly hears the sound of an engine starting.

Barry is on the ground, moaning in pain when he realises his friend is driving away. “Hey, what the fuck, man!” He yells, but it’s too late.

Jon crouches to his level and smiles. “This,” he says, delivering him one last smooth punch straight in the nose, “will hopefully teach you a lesson for the future.”

***

This has been the happiest moment in her trip thus far. They exit Hot Pie’s stomachs full of lemon cakes, coffee and apple pies (the owner—yes, really a guy named Hot Pie!—was so thankful that Jon intervened because these two assholes have been using his restaurant as hideout for months now and as a gift of gratitude, he thus put their meals on the house) and Daenerys has her bag again, now clutched tightly over her shoulder and she does not plan on repeating the same mistake twice.

Above all else, she still can’t get over what Jon did.

“Who knew you were so heroic?” she says as they head out.

“I wasn’t trying to be but you obviously had no idea what you were doin’,” he tells her and on a lower note, adds, “stubborn woman.”

“I’ll let that one pass,” she allows, rolling her eyes. “You’re right. I’m a bit impulsive but _you_ …oh my gosh. Straight out of a Hollywood classic. You even made one of those heroic entries, you know, where the guy says a quirky line that gets all the women hot and bothered.”

Jon raises an eyebrow.

She blushes madly once she realises what she just said. “In the movies, I mean! Not me. I was _not_ hot and bothered.” He _did_ look handsome, though—all dark and dangerous, but that’s not important. “Daario would never do this,” she suddenly reflects.

“Who?”

“Daario. My boyfriend.”

“Oh. The reason we got in that situation in the first place,” he deduces.

She chuckles. “Yeah, the one and only.” She shakes her head to herself. “One day, a pickpocket stole my purse and he said he couldn’t run after him because it was too windy and that would damage his hair.”

Jon doesn’t laugh, only curiously tilts her head at her. “What?”

“Daario is obsessed with his appearance, you wouldn’t get it,” she tells him, laughing it off.

“He sounds like…quite the guy,” he dryly replies.

“He is,” she says sternly.

“Okay.”

“I love him. He’s great.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah, he can sometimes be a little annoying,” she explains, licking her lips, “And a bit materialistic and sometimes self-centred but…but he has a good heart. And he’s a nice guy.”

“Oh…kay?”

The conversation drops to an end there. But it’s not uncomfortable to walk in silence after what just happened to them.

“It was cute,” he says after a while.

“What?”

“The bra,” he elaborates.

Her eyes widen, cheeks turning deep crimson—again. “Shut up!”

“I’m just kidding.” He guffaws. “How would I know if it’s cute or not if I’ve never seen you in it?”

The lonely roads of Winterfell become alive with the sound of laughter and teasing.

***

Sam is the least hairy person Dany has seen in the North. And he _smiles._ He doesn’t even have an accent when he greets them at his doorstep with a very friendly, “Hello there!”

“Hi,” Daenerys replies, excited to see someone different. “You must be Sam.”

He looks confused but doesn’t cease to smile. Daenerys really likes him already. “I am…who are you? And oh, Jon, I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Jon nods. “Sam, we need your help.”

“Sure,” he answers—without even knowing what the help is about. What a guy. How can Jon and he be from the same planet? “But first, let’s get you two tidied up. You look like you’ve been through a storm.”

Daenerys lowers her eyes to her body and grimaces to herself. She _does_ look dirty. Her dress has mud stains all over, her knee has been scraped – unbeknownst to her – and the shoes she changed into (so she wouldn’t have to walk in heels and ruin them) have gone from white to maroon. She is thankful she does not have a mirror, she does not want to know what her head must look like.

“Oh no. We’re good,” Jon says.

“No, we’re not,” she exclaims, “I would very much like to at least wash my face. I probably smell like a pig.”

“You don’t,” Jon tells her, rolling her eyes. “You smell like vanilla or somethin’.”

She quirks a brow.

Jon awkwardly scratches his neck. “I don’t know. Must be your shampoo.”

It _is_ her shampoo but she doubts the scent has lingered for so long. But then again, it was very expensive. It still is funny he noticed though.

“Point is,” Jon continues, “I thought you were in a hurry to get to Derek.”

“Daario,” she corrects, knowing damned well he did that intentionally. “However hurried I am, I can make time to just wash up. It’s not my fault that I sweat like a normal human being while you just look like a guy in a commercial no matter what you do.”

Their bickering stops when Sam laughs, a knowing look on his face. “I think I get what’s going on.”

“You probably don’t,” Jon deadpans.

“This is your new girlfriend!” Sam declares.

“What?” Daenerys and Jon echo in unison.

“That’s not my boyfriend,” Daenerys adds, scrunching up her nose in distaste. “He’s…helping me get to mine, actually.”

“Okay, now I’m just confused,” Sam says.

“We’ll explain everything,” she promises, “But first. The bathroom?”

Sam smiles, pushing his door open to accommodate for them. “Come in. All of you. Even Ghost!”

***

When Daenerys sees her reflection in Sam’s bathroom mirror, she barely recognises the woman staring back at her with big, horrified eyes. Her hair is a gigantic mess on top of her head, her skin has reddened from the prolonged exposure to the harsh Northern sunlight and the dark circles under her eyes can be seen from miles, she believes. She looks like a nightmare. With a sigh, she cups some fresh water in both hands and splashes it over her face, in hopes of at least cleansing herself. She wipes the dirt off her forearms and unties her hair. She uses a hairbrush to smoothen her hair and pulls it in a high ponytail.

After close inspection, she decides she cannot stay in that dress. Locking the door, she chooses another outfit—sadly, she had not prepared for how this trip turned out so she only packed pretty dresses, cute tops and skirts and barely any clothes that could be useful in this dilemma. She is left with no other alternatives but to change in yet another blue sundress with polka dots all over it. At least it’s clean.

Outside, Jon is explaining the situation to his friend. Dany has also met Gilly, Sam’s wife, and she’s about as adorable as he is. If her mind is to be changed about the North, they are the only persons who can possibly help doing so. They don’t represent what she’s seen so far, they aren’t rude or ill-mannered. They’re friendly and warm and seem very happy in their little bubble of love and family.

A loud knock sounds at the door, just as she is applying moisturiser on her face.

“Daenerys,” Jon says from the other side. “Can I come in?”

“Yes,” she answers, unlocking the door for him.

He hesitantly enters and immediately frowns at her. “What are you doing?”

“I might not have time for a full-face makeup but I at least wish to look presentable for Daario,” she insists, grabbing a nude lipstick from her bag.

He leans against the doorway, eyeing her in an analysing fashion. “You don’t need that.”

“Don’t be one of those men who say ‘you don’t need makeup, you’re beautiful the way you are’,” she jokes, lightly coating her chapped lips with the lipstick.

“No. I mean you don’t need that because the train ride is at least four hours long. You’ll look like a mess again.”

She glares at him and he cracks a tiny smile. Jon is not like most men she has met, she can't deny that much. He is not talkative and definitely not flirty. His smiles are rare and earned and his brutal honesty takes time getting used to. But he is helpful when he does not necessarily need to be, like with her bag. Dany has mixed feelings about him, he is but an enigma begging to be solved. She's afraid she does not have the time to do so, though.

His stare is too distracting so she questions, “why do you always look at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure something out,” she tells him.

“I won’t deny that,” he says. “I’ve never met anyone like you in my life.”

She blinks. “Have you even met someone out of Winterfell in your life?”

This earns her a raspy chuckle. “Point taken. Are you comin’? I’ve told Sam everything and he’s ready to help us.”

It seems she’s finally reached the end of the tunnel. She has her bag back, she is clean and fresh, she’s no longer starving, she has someone who is willing to help her get to Essos and she’s made a new friend with someone who drives her crazy most of the time. Perhaps he was a blessing in disguise. Dany smiles, giddy with renewed excitement. And then a dumb little idea pops up in her brain. “One second!” She shuffles a few things in her bag and finds what she’s looking for.

Jon frowns. “What’s that?”

“A hair tie.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s for you,” she explains.

“I have one already,” Jon tells her, regarding her like she is some alien.

“No. Yours is just a piece of leather.” She rolls her eyes. “Come on. Use this.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” Jon huffs. “What kind of request is that, anyway? My leather band does the job.”

“You have pretty hair and an ugly piece of worn-out leather holding it together.” She moves the cute grey hair tie in front of his eyes. “Take it.”

“Daenerys,” he warns, “we’re losin’ time here.”

She scowls at him childishly. “We wouldn’t if you just wore it.”

“I will not.”

She walks up to him imploringly.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Jon asks, even as he backs away into the wall.

She smiles innocently, still holding it out. “Wear it or I’ll jump on you and make you wear it.”

He looks horrified. “You would not.”

“You know how crazy I am,” she whispers.

Jon’s resolve breaks in a loud sigh. “I do,” he mutters, snatching it from her hand. “You’re absolutely insane,” he mumbles as he unbounds his curls – and she gets a quick display of what Jon Snow would look like in his full, long-haired glory – before fastening it back with her elastic tie. “Happy?”

“Very,” she says appreciatingly.

***

“There’s a train leaving for Essos in an hour and a half. However if we go to try and get Jon’s motorcycle to repair it first, we’ll probably miss it.” Sam tells them when they’re back.

Gilly has made tea for everyone. Daenerys had insisted that they had already eaten but Gilly declared that no welcome is complete without tea.

Dany places her cup on the table and looks over at Jon. She does not want to fight with him again; they’ve already gone through that. And she is partly responsible for what happened to his bike. Even if it would suck for her, she would agree to prioritising that first.

However, Jon speaks up. “The bike’s dead anyway. It was already not in its best shape, I doubt retrieving it from that lake is goin’ to do much good. Drop us at the train station, Sam.”

Daenerys knows he’s lying. He loves that bike. “Are you sure?” she asks.

Jon nods. “Wouldn’t want to keep your boyfriend waitin’ any longer,” he says quietly.

At the mention of her boyfriend, Daenerys realises that she hasn’t contacted him again. And now she probably has the connection to do so. “Can we leave in a minute? I want to speak with Daario.”

Jon says nothing and Sam nods.

Dany hurriedly grabs her phone and heads to a silent corner to dial his number.

He picks up after four rings. “God, Dany? Where _are_ you?”

“Still Winterfell.”

“I thought you’d be in Essos by now. I feel so bad that you’re stuck in that hell-hole. I heard that centuries ago, zombies attacked that town and killed everyone.” There’s laughter in her voice but Daenerys can’t bring herself to even make herself smile at that stupid joke. Maybe she’s just tired.

She frowns. “Did you forget what I told you? I’m literally stuck here.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, I’m on my way now. Might be in Essos by tonight.”

There’s a pause. “Uh, yeah? I’ll book you a hotel.”

“What? Won’t you pick me up at the train station?”

“Honey…there’s a party tonight. We might be winning the case so we’re gonna be out getting a few drinks and some food.”

“You haven’t even won the case. What is this, pre-victory party?” She doesn’t mean to sound so snappy but she can’t believe how inconsiderate he is being.

“Geez, what’s gotten in your pants?” he laughs. “It’s fine. We’ll see each other tomorrow morning.”

“It’s not _fine._ You totally forgot about me, did not even try to reach me and now you can’t bail on your dumb party to come get me in Essos?” Now she absolutely intends to sound pissed off. Because she is.

“Baby, calm down.”

“Stop telling me to calm down.”

“Okay, Daenerys, now you’re just being unreasonable. And selfish. I’m here for work. It’s not my fault you wished to follow me. What was so important it couldn’t wait until I came back, anyway?” He exhales impatiently. “You kinda brought this on yourself.”

His words are slap to the face and it stings her more than anything so far has. The pain of exhaustion was bearable when she kept telling herself that it was all worth it for him, but for _this_ pain she has no remedy. Swallowing, she hangs up without saying another word.

“Hey.”

At the sound of Jon’s voice behind her, Daenerys faces him with a forced smile. “Hi.”

He does not buy it, though. “You okay?” he asks, eyes briefly going over her face. “I thought I heard a bit of yellin’.”

“Not at all.” She waves her hand. “I was just telling him how happy I am that it’s all working out now.”

Jon nods. “We should leave now.”

She won’t annoy Jon with her relationship problems. She has already dragged him into enough shit. Whatever happens once he’s dropped her off will no longer be a concern of his.

***

Sam drives a black Toyota and _oh,_ how thankful her feet are for this much deserved rest. Hell, she’d agree to even hop on a horse to head for that train station as long as she does not have to walk anymore. Jon is sat in the front with Sam and Daenerys is in the back, staring out the window. Her mind is not on the fields or the trees, though, but going in circles about Daario.

She loves him. She has no doubt about that. They’ve always been together. This is how things must play out, she’s always known. But sometimes she really wonders how he can be so dense—how he can put almost every single thing in the world beforetheir relationship.

She believes that it’s probably due to the fact that he knows, as well as she does, that they’ll always be together. He doesn’t worry about small, romantic gestures anymore because their love is a closed and won case.

But she craves the said small, unimportant gestures that make all the difference. Her proposal was supposed to be spontaneous and exciting. Now she’s overthinking it all. Will it even mean something to him?

Daario texted her an apology immediately after their argument. 

_I’m sorry. Just under a lot of stress. Im happy ur coming, please don’t be mad. Ily._

She didn’t respond. She was getting late, anyway.

When Sam speaks to her, she finally snaps out of her thoughts. “How funny is it how you two met. Some would say it’s destiny!”

“It was annoying, for sure, I don’t know about destiny,” Jon answers, but there’s no bitterness in his voice. It’s just a jest.

Daenerys plays along. “Oh yeah. Could’ve ended up anywhere else in the world but somehow managed to stumble upon him. Talk about destiny.”

Sam laughs. “You’re too funny, Daenerys.”

“Is she?” Jon retorts.

Daenerys kicks her knee at the back of his seat and Jon chuckles.

“You know, I thought Jon was introducing me to his new girlfriend when I saw you two.” Sam sighs. “God knows it’s about time. It’s been one year since Ygritte, hasn’t it?”

Daenerys’ ears prick up with interest. “Ygritte,” she reiterates, “who’s that?” Her eyes flicker between Jon and Sam, gauging their expressions.

Jon closes his eyes, seemingly miffed by Sam. “It’s nobody. None of your concerns, anyway.”

“His ex-girlfriend who broke his heart,” Sam says instead.

Jon makes a tortured sound at the back of his throat. “Why are you tellin’ her that, again?”

Sam grins, not sorry at all.

“Oh.” Daenerys leans in further, her head almost between the two front seats. She stares at the side of Jon’s face. “How did she break your heart?”

Jon clenches his jaw, staring right ahead as if the road is the most interesting thing ever. But realising she’s too stubborn to give up, he says, “I asked her to marry me. And she said no. Can we drop it?”

She would’ve pressed, really, but he looks genuinely uncomfortable and upset to speak about it. And Daenerys finds no reason to prolong his anguish so she nods and sits back, processing why someone would not marry Jon Snow.

***

Jon is the one who takes her bag out.

“You guys will be okay from here?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll just wait with her and get a ride back home. Thank you, Sam. And look after Ghost!” Jon smiles at him.

They decided to leave Ghost at Sam’s house for the sake of this short trip, as Jon figured his companion was tired from all the walking he did. Still, Ghost was sad about Daenerys leaving – as if he could sense that it was the last time he’d ever see her. And to her surprise, Daenerys found herself to get teary-eyed when she gave him a final pet. _How did I get so attached to this little beast in just a day?_

Sam returns the smile. “Will do and you’re welcome. It was nice meeting you, Daenerys. A breath of fresh air, really.”

Her cheeks hurt from beaming so much. “Thank you, Sam. It was very nice meeting you and Gilly too. Bye!”

As he drives off, Daenerys exhales all her worries away. “So…this is it.”

Jon looks around. “It is.”

“I’ll just buy the train ticket and give you your money,” she tells him, to which he only nods.

She goes to the man working behind a counter. He lowers his glasses and smiles. “Hello.”

“Hi. When’s the train to Essos?”

“There’s one leaving in thirty minutes.”

Relieved, she orders a ticket and pays for it before getting back to Jon, who’s waiting on a bench which faces the railway. He is staring away, lost in thought.

She sits next to him. “What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing at all. I was just…looking at the Wall.”

“What’s that?” she asks.

He points to the ruins before them, the remains of a structure that seems to have been huge but is now only a few blocks looking like a destroyed tower.

“What was that?” she inquires once more.

“Apparently there was a huge wall here a very, very long time ago before it was destroyed in a war. They kind of just rebuilt the pieces in a tower and now it’s called the Wall.”

“Oh. It looks very pretty.”

“It is. And only takes a few minutes to climb,” Jon says suggestively.

Daenerys gives him a warning look. “Jon….”

He shrugs. “I’m not suggestin’ anything. I’m just sayin’…you won’t get to see that ever again. And apparently, you can see the ocean from the top.”

Daenerys looks at the railway pensively. “If the train comes…”

“It’ll only take a few minutes,” he persists. “We just go up this slope and there are rocky stairs up there so it’s easy to climb. It’s far from being a mountain.”

She hates how she’s only known this man for two days but is considering going up a tower with him, when she should only be focused on the train she needs to catch. _To get to Daario, who barely even cares about how meaningful this trip is to her._ She needs a distraction to decompress, she decides at last.

Jon takes her silence for a no, so he stands up and looks down at Daenerys. “Well, you’re the one waitin’, not me. Perhaps I should just go.”

“I’ll come.”

He doesn’t do a good job at hiding his little victorious smirk. They cross the railway and begin their march up the slope of grass and rocks.

Daenerys decides she might as well talk to him now, since in a few minutes they’ll be separated. Forever. “So, have you ever spoken to Ygritte after that?”

Jon lets out a long puff of breath. “Of course you’d bring that up again.”

“We’ll never see each other again, Jon Snow, you telling me about your heartbreak is not going to matter. Besides, it’s good to let your feelings out from time to time.”

Since he’s a foot ahead of her, he looks behind him to give her a glacial glare but Daenerys knows him too well by now to be put off by this murderous look, so she only offers an angelic smile in return.

“She moved out of the country after I asked.”

“God. That’s harsh. What happened, exactly?”

She can see him tensing up, but he answers anyway, “I met Ygritte a little after my family…died. She was, I don’t know, a rebound for life itself, I guess? She gave me a reason to live and fight. But I think I loved her too fast, because I had lost so much already and wanted badly to cling on somethin’.  I asked her to marry me but she said that I was movin’ too fast and that I didn’t have a future planned out. She said she’d say yes if I sold the Night’s Watch and moved away with her somewhere else.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Move away?” he asks, astounded. “Winterfell’s my home. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

“But you’ve lost so much here,” she says in a quiet tone.

“I wouldn’t get them back in a fancy house in some other country. Home is not a new, expensive place where you can forget the past. Home is where your heart desires to be, where it feels the safest. This is my home.”

She reflects on his words and how, somehow, they hold a truth she’s been blind to. “You’re quite poetic when you’re not being moody,” she tells him, just to lighten up the atmosphere.

They’re almost at the Wall now. “I’ve told you a lot,” he informs her, “how ‘bout you tell me some truths now?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. You were clearly arguin’ with Damon earlier.”

She groans. “Daario. What do you have against him?”

“What do you mean?” he throws her words at her.

“I mean you know his name yet you clearly choose to be an ass about it and call him other things. Why do you hate him?”

“I don’t hate your boyfriend, I don’t even know him.”

“My point, exactly, yet you seem so bitter whenever I bring him up.”

Jon takes a pause in the conversation. “Well, to be honest…I just don’t see what kind of man would leave his girlfriend in a foreign place she’s never been to, doesn’t even try to contact her that much when she’s trying to flip the world upside down to get to him.”

Daenerys falters. “You can’t blame him. He’s very busy.”

“Is that what he told you earlier?” Jon asks as they finally get to the stairs of the tower.

Daenerys doesn’t even bother taking a minute to soak in how beautiful it is, as she’s too busy catching up with him in both his quick steps and quick retorts. “He told me that he couldn’t make it to the train station in Essos but he’ll book a hotel for me.”

“Oh, right. That totally changed my mind about him,” Jon sarcastically puts out. “What a great lad.”

“He’s going to be busy…” she sighs, “partying.”

Jon abruptly turns to her. He doesn’t look very pleased. “I think you’re smart enough to figure out why that doesn’t give me a very good impression of him.”

As he walks away, Daenerys tries again – but she isn’t sure which one of them she is supposed to be convincing. “Daario is loving and caring but he’s also a man who loves his job. And he’s a lawyer, not just any guy. I decided to make this trip. I should deal with the consequences of it going to shit.”

They’re at the top now, the highest point they can reach on the Wall. But she’s staring at Jon rather than the gorgeous, magnificent view that they came here to see right below.

Jon clicks his tongue and comes closer in her personal space, making her fidget. “The reason you’re here is because he didn’t propose in the first place and you're afraid he never will,” he states.

She is about to defend Daario (and for what, she doesn’t know) but Jon is gripping her shoulders and turning her to face the other way. “We didn’t come up here for Daario,” he mumbles, his voice close to her ear. “Look.”

The sight is breath-taking. It feels like they’re on top of the world, even if that’s clearly an overstatement. The water is sparkly blue and far, far away there are mountains and forests. “This looks like something out of a story book,” she says, drinking in every bit of this visual perfection.

“The wall was much, much bigger back in the days of war. Apparently, there were men who had to guard it.” Jon has moved to stand beside her now.

“Imagine standing on top of this back then.” Daenerys looks down, and even if they’re not that high up, already feels nauseous. “Think I’d throw up.”

He snorts. “You sure would.”

“Winterfell really is beautiful,” she voices out. “In Dragonstone, the most nature I see is the dog park.”

She feels Jon’s eyes on her. After a moment, he asks her, “What do you do, anyway? In life?”

“I’m a bag designer,” she announces proudly. “My mother started the business and we got very popular very fast. I think we’re the best bag brand in Westeros but I might be biased.”

Jon quirks a smile, lifting a brow. “That’s the strangest job I can think of yet most suited for you.”

She rolls her eyes playfully.

“So your brother was one too?”

Her smile flickers. Dany looks back at the calm water. “No. Rhaegar was a special agent. He was rarely ever home, always on duty and he never spoke of his cases. He knew my mother couldn’t handle it because his job often got violent and out of hand. He and my mother worked on a bag for my birthday. He designed it, mostly. And he offered it to me one day before he went back to work and…” Flashes of Rhaegar’s body splatter in her brain. How pale he was, the blood in his mouth spilling out like rubies, their mother screaming in terror.

“Hey, hey, look at me.”

Daenerys blinks twice and Rhaegar’s silver hair is replaced by Jon’s very dark eyes staring down at her. He has his hands on her upper arms, holding her tightly. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I shouldn’t—I didn’t want to get carried away by this.”

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, his thumbs rubbing over her skin soothingly.

She drops her eyes from his intense look. “You’ve been through a lot worse.”

“You can’t compare tragedies,” he assures her. “It’s bad no matter what.”

“You were right about Daario,” she admits, to both him and herself. “Sometimes he’s selfish but it’s an instinct to defend him. I love him but…I—” She frowns. “Are you hearing this?”

“Hearin’ what?” Jon asks absentmindedly, still standing very close to her.

Daenerys distinguishes a chugging and rumbling sound which is gradually getting louder from the sounds of the wind blowing and trees rustling…

It sounds like a…

 _“_ Train,” she shrieks.

Jon snaps out of his daze. “What are you talkin’ ab—oh God.”

“No!” Daenerys yells, her feet already taking her down the stairs. “No, no no no, _no_!” she is chanting to herself, heart pounding against her ribcage.

She knows it’s too late. She is still halfway down the Wall, has a slope to descend and at least a two-minute run to complete before getting to the train but she is still running anyway, desperate and frantic. How stupid could she be? How _deaf_ could she be? She was busy staring at the ocean and the sky and Jon fucking Snow and has ruined everything—again. This time, she’s the only one to blame. She knew she had thirty minutes to get down but instead, she was opening up about her deceased brother to a complete stranger.

“Slow down,” a voice is saying behind her.

Daenerys doesn’t listen, doesn’t care. She is flying down the steps and running down the landscape, not paying mind to the rocks and muddy parts. The inevitable fall happens as she slips over a particularly wet part of the soil and loses balance. Before her eyes, the train has already left the station – already too late for her. If she gets up and runs, albeit her dirty clothes and scraped knee, she still will not be able to stop it or make it wait for her.

“I’m sorry,” is all Jon says.

She scoffs. “Are you?” she retaliates, standing up in a fist of fury. “You’ve forced me to go up there, knowing damned well I’d miss the train.”

Jon furrows his brow. “I did not force you to do anythin’. You went up with me by your own volition.”

“You know what I mean,” she snarls, brushing her hands on the skirts of her dress. “You said it’d take a few minutes and…and I couldn’t refuse by how you were looking at me.”

Jon barks out a dry laugh. “How was I lookin’ at you? Oh, yeah, I remember. I was feelin’ bad for you because you looked upset after your conversation with your boyfriend. I was trying to be decent. You think I knew that you’d miss the train? You thought I tired my arse goin’ through all of this hoping for you to miss it? Stupid girl.”

Hell, even she knows she is being unfair to him. He could not have planned this. He could not have known. Daenerys throws her head back in frustration. What will she do, now? “I didn’t mean to yell at you just now,” she mutters to the darkening sky and then looks back at Jon. “Sorry.”

“I get why you’re mad. I’ve never seen someone get so unlucky in just one day.”

“I feel like shit,” she acknowledges.

“It’s gonna rain soon. Let’s…get back to the station and figure somethin’ out.”

Daenerys nods but she’s so spent that she is not sure they will be able to figure anything out.

***

“Oh dear, oh dear.” The man who works at the train station singsongs. He is much shorter than she’d thought. He touches the rim of his glasses out of habit and shakes his head in disappointment. “I am so sorry. I wanted to call out for you but you were so far away and there’s only so much strength left in this ol’ body. And I did not want to disturb you two lovers from seeing one of the most beautiful sights Winterfell has to offer."

Daenerys begins weakly moving her head from side to side. “We’re not—”

“When’s the next train leavin’?” Jon cuts in with the important question.

“Two days.” He gives them a sympathetic smile. “As you can see, no one really travels a lot around here. Today was your lucky day, dear, but…”

“But it seems like I’m the unluckiest person around here,” she completes, bitterly smiling at her misery.

Jon sighs and speaks to Dany. “Do you want to head back to the Night’s Watch or should—”

“Oh. Isn’t the Night’s Watch a bit far from here, son?” The man asks.

“Not a bit. Very,” Jon answers.

“Then why are you being silly? I live just around the corner! You two can stay with me and my wife for these two days and you can get going when you need to catch the next train.”

Jon and Dany share a surprised look.

Daenerys begins to refuse. “Sir, we couldn’t possibly ask for—”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering!” he exclaims. “It’s upset me seeing what you two got yourselves in. And you look very tired. The weather’s going to be bad again. _And_ you just fell down, dear. I often propose to people who live far away to drop by at my house and wait for their trains, I’ll be happy to accommodate for two lovebirds.”

Daenerys frowns. He still thinks they’re…

“Also, you’re married, right?” he blurts. “I’m not really the type to mind but my wife…ouch. If you aren’t married then I’m afraid it’s not going to work out.”

Daenerys looks at Jon who returns her a confused and questioning glance.

“Yep,” she decides, smiling. “Just married.”

Jon coughs, following right behind, as if they’ve mentally agreed to this just a moment ago. “That’s why we’re heading for Essos for our...our honeymoon.”

“Yeah.” Daenerys nods.

“Oh. Great. I could see it, anyway, you both look really in love.” He laughs. “What’s your names, again?”

“I’m Daenerys.”

“Jon.”

Simultaneously, Daenerys says ‘Targaryen’ and Jon ‘Snow’.

The man blinks in confusion.

“It’s Snow,” Jon explains. “Just hard gettin’ used to it. Right, darlin’?”

Daenerys awkwardly stammers, “Yep. Exactly. That.”

“Oh, okay.” The old man seems to buy it quite fast. “I’m Nick. Let’s get you to my sweet home and even sweeter wife.”

***

Martha is a sweet woman, indeed, but the first question she asks them – as warned beforehand by Nick – is whether they’ve tied the knot. Jon and Dany fall into an unrehearsed answer, which they try to keep as short as possible to avoid it getting too messy.

“Welcome home!” Martha shows them around her living room—filled with pictures and green plants—and the kitchen. Behind the kitchen is a garden and Dany would’ve been impressed if she hadn’t already spent the whole day out in the nature. It’s still nice to look upon though.

“You have a very nice house,” Jon tells her.

Martha beams. “You have very nice hair, young man. Ah, look at you two. Look at them Nick. Don’t they look radiant together?”

Jon and Daenerys stand next to one another, unsure of the next move.

“Absolutely,” Nick answers, sighing contentedly. “When I saw them, I could feel their love. They are the opposite of each other—her hair as pale as moonglow and his as dark as the night—such a beautiful contrast. They’re like a puzzle, two pieces fitting in so well.”

Daenerys has to clench her jaws together not to spit out loud fits of laughter. She’s never heard something so delirious in her life. And who the hell thinks _all of that_ about two strangers who are supposedly married? Gods, Winterfell is truly something else.

“You’re absolutely right,” says Martha. “Ah, anyway, let’s get you to your room.”

Dany notes the singular form of the word room and mentally curses.

The cherry on the top would be—

“Here you go.” Martha pushes a door open and….

Yeah.

A single bed.

***

There is quietness in the room after they leave. Jon is taking off his boots and Daenerys is choosing an outfit for the night.

“If you leave in two days, you’ll reach Essos by the 28th. Will that be alright?” Jon sounds genuinely concerned by her thoughts on arriving later than anticipated.

She shrugs. “At this point I don’t really care about when I will be arriving. I’m just worried if I’ll ever get there at all. But yes, the twenty-eighth will be fine. Still twenty-four hours before leap day.”

Jon clears his throat. “Sorry about earlier. I really had no idea you were gonna miss the train. I just thought you’d like the scenery.”

“I did.” She turns to him, smiles. “I loved it. Thank you.”

Jon looks up and their eyes meet, soft smiles being exchanged. In truth, she only wanted to exteriorise her exasperation and Jon was the only one around so she unfairly took out her anger on him. He’s been around all this time and she knows she hasn’t been the easiest to deal with. They’ve fought and grown tired of each other—but he still stayed with her. He could’ve given up and asked for the money but he went through with the plan, he went out of his way to get her bag back, he got her to meet Sam so he could help them out and he wanted to cheer her up after noticing that the phone call had affected her so he took her up the Wall. Jon has done more for her in the past forty-eight hours than anyone has in a very long time. When their gazes linger on one another for a second too long, intense stares morphing into something beyond their comprehension, Daenerys tucks her hair behind her ear and looks away.

_What kind of fuckery was that?_

“Plus, I agreed to go. Don’t take all the blame, Jon.”

He gets up. “Are you going to take a bath? Because…well, I’d like to take one too and there’s, uh, only one bathroom.” He scratches his beard, obviously as uneasy as she is.

“I’ll take one. You can come afterwards," she requests, "Wait, where will you get new clothes?”

“Hopefully Nick will get me some,” Jon says. “I’ll ask him and be back.”

Daenerys checks her phone as Jon goes out and sees the two new text message from Daario:

_Please don’t ignore me for such a petty fight. i love u._

_Daenerys. This isn’t funny._

She soothes her ire by telling herself that at least he cares enough to send her numerous texts.

She replies: _I’m sorry Daario. Don’t want us to fight either. Love u. had a little problem, will be reaching Essos in 3 days, I believe._

He answers almost immediately: _okay baby. I’m glad. I’ll be here to pick u up. I’m sorry._

She’s glad that this has been sorted out but a quiet, dark voice in her mind reminds her that Daario is only picking her up because it suits him—he never considered changing his earlier plans about the party for hers, while a man she’s known for only a day has thrown all of his plans out of the window to ensure she would be safe and sound. 

***

The water makes a nice sizzling sound as it hits her body and Daenerys closes her eyes, enjoying the warmth seeping in her pores. She’ll rest well tonight, she knows it, for her bones are so tired that she’ll even fall asleep on the floor. The only problem is…the bed.

One bed.

She assumes Jon will be a gentleman and let her sleep on it but can she do this to him? He must be exhausted, too. She doubts she’ll have the heart to let him sleep on the floor.

As she closes the tap, Daenerys grabs a handful of her wet hair and slides her fingers through to rid it of most of the accumulated water and finally turns to get a towel.

Only now does she notice that there is no towel. Her dress and underwear are hung but no sign of a towel. Frantic, Daenerys pushes the white curtains aside and moves around the bathroom to look for it; the sink, the toilet, the soap, toilet paper…. She curses to herself.

She makes her way back behind the curtains, droplets of water dribbling down her arms and legs and nose. “Jon,” she calls out, “are you there?”

His voice comes back to her a few seconds later. “Yes. You done?”

“No, I—” She bites her lip. How embarrassing is this. “—I can’t find a towel, actually. Can you get me one?”

“Uh, yeah, there’s one on the bed.”

 _Great. I’m really fucking blind,_ she chides herself. 

Jon is closer to the door now, his voice a tad bit louder and clearer. “Do I just—”

She hugs the curtains to her body, licking her lower lip. “Just come in. I’m…hidden.”

Jon opens the door and immediately looks away. “Gods,” he says, sounding choked up. “You probably shouldn’t do that.”

Daenerys fists the curtains tighter, eyes widening. “Do what?”

“Hug yourself around a,” Jon pauses, “see-through curtain.”

Daenerys pushes herself away from it at once, hands hugging her body. “What the hell!” she shrieks.

“I’m not lookin’,” Jon says, holding out the towel. “Hells, woman, don’t jump around in the shower. You’ll fall.”

Daenerys reaches out for the towel and wraps it around her body at the speed of light. “Why the hell would they put see-through curtains anyway?” she huffs.

Before Jon goes out, he mutters, “Because they think we’re married. What else is there left to see?”

***

“Don’t say a word.”

“I won’t.”

Daenerys can only hold her laughter for two more seconds before it erupts out of her, loudly and fully. Jon makes a deep, tortured sound of annoyance.

“Look at you,” she splutters, still recovering.

Nick has given Jon a large (and when she says large, she means _large_ ) and baggy tunic which looks like something a King has worn during the war. It is cream-coloured with nice patterned sleeves and despite its prettiness, Dany just can’t take him seriously. Jon and his curly, wet hair from the shower, dressed like some ancient powerful Lord. The best part is the pair of tight, black pants. The whole look is a mess but she’s thankful for that, she hasn’t had such a good laugh in a long while.

“Who the fuck wears tunics anymore?” Jon harshly mutters. “Look at this!” He shrugs his shoulder and the tunic is so loose that it drops down, revealing the entire shoulder.

“If you move enough, it’ll just fall down entirely,” Daenerys notes, giggling.

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

She rolls her eyes. “You have the worst sense of humour, Jon. Or should I say my lord?”

Jon takes a step closer to her. “Yeah, you’re right. This is funny. But not as funny as you, very naked, hiding behind a very see-through curtain.”

Daenerys narrows her eyes at his sinful smile. “Fine. Touché. Shall we go have dinner now, husband?”

He opens the door for her, smiling warmly at her. “Right after you, darlin’.”

***

“We are so happy you two joined us today,” says Martha as she brings the food to the table, “it gets lonely here sometimes, doesn’t it, hon?”

“My life could never be boring with you,” Nick answers.

Daenerys has to look away from the sudden, intense and sexually charged look the husband and wife exchange. She prays someday her love life will remain this electric after years of marriage and living with each other. They’re old yet their passion for each other seems to be a fire that never dies. Despite how incredibly cringey they are, Dany envies that aspect. Who wouldn't?

Martha serves them fried noodles. Daenerys’ stomach is growling but she has to say, “this is too kind of you. Please let me repay you tomorrow. We cannot possibly accept all of this.”

“You can and you will,” Martha says in a decided voice. “Nick and I usually house many married couples who have to wait for a train. It makes us happy. I won’t hear about payment again, pretty girl. Having you two here makes us happy.”

Daenerys smiles, but inside her stomach swims in guilt for lying to them about being married.

“Thank you,” Jon says as they begin eating.

Martha hums. “So, do tell the story of how you two met.”

Jon stops chewing, panic blanching his face.

Daenerys has to catch up with a believable tale, quickly, if she wishes to spend the night here rather than outside in the pouring rain. “Well, it’s quite a story.”

Jon nods, swallowing prematurely. “Tell them, honey, I love it when you tell it.”

Daenerys gives him a quick glare, mentally reproaching him for just dumping this horrendous job upon her. But an idea clicks in her head. _Fine, Jon. I’ll tell them an_ incredible _tale._ “Where do I begin? Oh, right. One day I traveled from Dragonstone to Winterfell for a little vacation—because I heard the countryside is just gorgeous. And I meet Jon.” Daenerys gives him a fake loving smile. “He was a complete asshole.”

Jon coughs.

Dany places a hand on his back, falsely rubbing up and down. “He was rude and broody and irritating. But turns out, he fell in love with me from the moment he laid his eyes upon me but was _so_ afraid his feelings were unreciprocated that he decided to be mean and push me away. Gods, he was...obsessed with me. All he talked about was me. Daenerys this, Daenerys that. He called me the moon of his life and dreamed about me every single night, wishing he was brave enough to confess his undying love. He gathered the courage and declared his flame in front of _everyone_  and asked me to marry him on the second day of my vacation. I said no.”

Jon decides to speak up. “No, baby, you’ve got it wrong. Well, you see, Daenerys was flirting with me from the moment she met me. And was leaving all sorts of hints for me to ask her to marry me. I don’t believe it was unreciprocated.”

“But I said no the first time,” she insists, grinning.

Jon kicks his knee against hers under the table. She suppresses a chuckle. “You said no because you were so overwhelmed. The next day, she came weeping to me about her decision and _begged_ me to take her back.”

“No, no. I don’t think it happened like that.”

“Trust me. It did. I think _she_ was the one obsessed with me.”

“I was there and don’t remember—”

“Oh, I see what’s happening here,” Nick blurts out.

Jon and Dany stop, looking at the couple in front of them.

She gulps. “You do?”

“Yes,” Martha confirms, “you _both_ fell in love at first sight but could not admit it to each other!”

Daenerys takes a sip of water. “Sure,” she says, unimpressed. 

“This was…very nice. I guess Daenerys and I will be off to our room now.” Jon gently places the napkin on the table and Dany nods, eager to get as far from these two as possible.

“No,” Nick objects. “There’s one last thing….”

Much to her confusion, after saying that, Nick and Martha meet each other in a fervent, open-mouthed kiss that lasts entirely too long for a third party's comfort, not as if they care. 

Jon looks like he wishes to be buried alive right there and then.

“I don’t understand,” Dany tells them as they slowly pull away.

“The tradition is the kiss,” Martha excitedly reveals, “we always have to kiss before bed.”

 _Great,_ Dany thinks. _Amazing._

“We’ll do plenty of—” Jon clears his throat, “—kissing in our room, I can assure you that.”

“Oh, come on! You two look very in love, yes, but give us a kiss. It’s a tradition, son.”

Jon glances at Daenerys, his eyes interrogating and prying, but she has nothing to reassure him with. She is frozen on the spot, legs already turned to leave the chair but her face still facing Jon’s. She has no idea how to get out of this one. Jon leans in swiftly and plants his lips on her temple. It’s barely a kiss, just his lips grazing her skin and she smiles at the loophole. “Aw. That was great,” she says.

Nick squints his eyes suspiciously. “Beginning to wonder whether you two are in love or not,” he drawls, “Kiss the girl!”

She does not have enough time to face Jon and seek out his reaction, no, he’s already grabbing her face. His fingers press against her cheek to turn her until his eyes are in her peripheral. He’s so close, so close she can see the greyness of his gaze and smell the soap he’s used to wash his hair.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, so close to her mouth it’d be impossible to know if he even said something at all, for the word seems to get swallowed by her parted lips. Her stable breathing breaks in an unknown pattern when he puts his lips on hers.

For a second, her eyes are still opened, staring at his closed eyelids. But then there is movement against her mouth and a strange sensation courses down her spine. It’s not as dreadful as disgust nor as exciting as lust. It’s something else entirely, a tingly feeling she’s never felt before. And then she is seeing darkness, her eyes have closed, and she is kissing him back – trying to understand her body’s reaction. Jon’s lips are soft, his mouth is warm and the coarse hair of his beard is tickling her sensitive skin. The feeling intensifies, as if her body is on a drug—her head is spinning, her fingers are shaking and her pulse is singing a wicked melody under her skin.

Kissing Daario is familiar, something she’s done since she was a teenager. She’s never kissed someone else. She knows his mouth and his taste and his scent. It does nothing to her. She thought that it meant simply that she’s gotten so used to kissing him that she isn’t supposed to feel anything after the first few times.

But kissing Jon Snow has brought up new emotions and sensations she had never even contemplated. She shouldn’t. All she should feel is indifference. And maybe a hint of disgust. And anger. Anger at how he dared even think about kissing her, that too without her permission. But no, she is tilting her head to give him better access and when he cups her cheek with his rough hand, she almost collapses at the overwhelming rush of tingles wherever his skin meets hers.

Daenerys tentatively lifts her hands to touch his face or his hair but he’s pulling away and the sensations drop instantly, like a dead bird falling through the greatest heights to die on the ground.

Jon has turned away from her after he pulled back, his cheeks are darker with colour and his lips are red-stained. Red-stained from her lipstick. _Oh, bloody hells_.

“ _That_ was a kiss,” Martha murmurs, winking at Jon.

_Bloody hells._

“Good night, you two adorable lovebirds.”

_BLOODY HELLS._

***

For once, Daenerys actually misses Martha and Nick’s voices because once she and Jon are alone in their room, the atmosphere thickens with unspoken tension. It can be detected by their inability to joke with each other through petty japes as per usual. Instead they are quiet and dancing around each other, avoiding any sort of physical or visual contact. 

“I can sleep on the floor,” Jon proposes.

Dany is fiddling with the sleeves on her comfortable gown, tugging at the fabric to relieve the weird sensation on her fingertips. “No. Take the bed with me.” And now that the words have left her mouth, she begins to re-think this statement. How did that sound? Did he hear it as inappropriately as she did? And then she is correcting herself, on a roll, and she can’t stop: “I mean, sleep in the bed. Next to me. Not take the—uh, whatever, what I mean is that I don’t want you to sleep on the floor. It looks so uncomfortable. The bed will be better and it’s large enough for both of us. I sleep on my side so I won’t take up much of the space and you can—”

“Daenerys,” he cuts her off, “I get it.”

 Daenerys looks down at her hands. Why’s she such a mess?

She lies down under the covers, her fingers still fumbling together, her mind racing. Jon is taking off his shoes and untying his hair and…. Oh no.

“You sleep naked?” she asks, horrified.

Jon does a double take. “Without my shirt, yes,” he answers slowly, “does that disturb you?”

“No.” She blinks, he throws the tunic away and she’s left staring at his _very_ naked chest. Scarred chest. Dany looks away.

She feels the bed dip next to her and she tries her hardest not to look in his direction. The bed is not the largest but it is enough for both of them to lie down and still not touch the slightest. For that, she is grateful. When he’s settled down and there is no more movement, she chances a look at him. Jon feels her gaze and looks back at her. His black hair is messy, curly and makes him look ten years younger. “About earlier,” she begins because she needs to. She has to clarify things.

“I know,” he says, “it was just for show. We both know they would not have let us off the hook that easily.”

“Right. So you did that to—”

“—To get them to shut up. If we want to stay here we’ll have to act like a couple.”

Daenerys breathes out in relief. “Okay. Thank God. I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Jon gives her an incredulous look. “What’d you think? That I was in love with you or somethin’?”

Daenerys shakes her head. “No. No, why are you saying that?”

“Because you sound like you were scared you were gonna break my poor heart by tellin’ me that the kiss meant nothin’ to you,” he replies harshly, “I’m not stupid. It meant nothin’ at all to me either."

Daenerys frowns. What’s up with him? “What are you even talking about? I was just worried that…that—”

“That what?” he sighs. “What did you think, Daenerys?”

“Nothing!” She is aggravated by his behaviour now. “I was just surprised you kissed me, okay? I’m in a relationship and I don’t want anything to ruin that. Surely not some meaningless kiss so I had to make sure that we both understood what this was about.”

Something sombre flashes in his eyes and he does not look pleased. “So you thought there was some ulterior motive behind me kissin’ you?”

“Why are we even fighting? We _agreed_ that it was just a necessary task. Where’s this argument even coming from?”

Jon breaks the intense staring session and looks up to the ceiling. “Yes. You’re right. We agreed.”

“Yeah. Good.”

“Good.”

Neither of them gets much sleep that night.

***

The next morning is not any better than how the night played out. If anything, their ‘clarifications’ added salt to the wound. Jon awakes before her and is already gone by the time her eyes adjust to the light from the windows. Daenerys gets up in a sour mood. She should’ve been waking up in Essos. 

When she joins Nick and Martha after getting dressed, she notes that Jon is missing from the table.

“Good morning,” Maratha says in a cheerful voice.

Daenerys manages a smile. “Morning.”

“I hope you slept well,” Nick calls out from the kitchen, “do you prefer cereal or eggs?”

She shakes her head. “I—I’ll be fine. Maybe I could prepare my own breakfast, I don’t wish to trouble you two more than I already have.”

“Since you’re so intent on not being a bother to us – which, for the millionth time, you aren’t – I’m happy to inform you that your husband has thought of a nice way to repay us. After a long time of us insisting that it was unnecessary,” says Martha.

“Oh?” She can’t let Jon pay for this. She was the one who dragged him into it.

“He proposed to cook for us,” she exclaims, “for tonight’s party.”

Daenerys tries to hide her surprise. “Oh. Yeah. He’s a—um—great cook.”

“Of course, honey.” Martha winks. “I always tell people that when you’re looking for husband, look for two things: one, whether he’s a good cook.”

Daenerys smiles. “And the second?”

“Whether he has nice hands,” she says, “because while…other activities may become sporadic along the way, you’ll be holding his hand forever.”

Jon does have nice hands. They’re large compared to hers and calloused and warm and— _why the fuck am I thinking about Jon’s hands_?

Daenerys banishes these thoughts. “By the way, you said something about a party….”

“Oh. Yes. We usually host this small party among neighbours. It’s not a big thing, just an excuse for dinner with people we love who live nearby. Jon insisted that he will be the one cooking. You could help him. He’s out in the garden getting vegetables.”

“I think I’ll do that.”

“Wait! Eat breakfast first.”

Even if she wishes to refuse, her stomach won’t let her.

***

Jon is wearing a new shirt today. It still looks like it came out of a medieval movie but at least this one fits him better. The laces on his chest are untied at the top and it shows his bare chest, covered in a light sheen of sweat. Daenerys hopes she is not blushing like a fool as she approaches him, remembering how he looked shirtless when he slept next to her.

“Hey,” she greets.

Jon looks up, a rebellious curl falling down his eye. He brushes it away with the back of his hand. “Hi. You’re up.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “I heard you told them you’d cook tonight.”

“I figured it’s the least I can do. They’re helpin’ us out and we’ve been lyin’ to them.” He looks around the garden. “There’s everything I need here.”

“That’s nice. Can I help?”

“You sure? Wouldn’t want to ruin your relationship.”

She somehow knew he’d bring that up again. “I’m sure harvesting vegetables is not considered cheating,” she coolly answers.

“Oh,” says Jon sarcastically, “what do you know? Maybe things can get too heated here.”

She notes the bitter edge to his tone. Still, she comes closer to him. “What I said yesterday applied to us kissing. Because kissing to me, in any other situation, means cheating. And I don’t wish to be a cheater. You’re acting like I blamed you for something when I did nothing.”

“It was just a kiss.”

“It wasn’t to me.”

Jon takes a moment. “What?”

“I mean,” she justifies, “it’s not just a kiss to someone who isn’t single.”

Jon nods. “You wanna help? Get me four carrots and a few tomatoes. Take the basket next to you to pick them.”

She obliges. However, she feels the need to question one thing. Something she wishes to believe is true, despite their differences and everything else. “We’re friends. Right, Jon?”

He looks at her for a long moment, in the same scrutinising way he always does. Conflict is written on his features. She does not understand why this simple query seems to disturb him so. The intensiveness of his gaze is almost physically unbearable. Jon blinks, his throat moving. “You better get to work, Daenerys.”

His reply stings her heart more than it should.

***

When the moon rises and the sun goes down, the party has begun. Only a few people came and so far, they’ve all been nice and welcoming to Daenerys and Jon. Nick and Martha are gushing over how ‘adorable’ these two are and Daenerys wants to dig a hole deep enough to bury herself and somehow take her to Essos, too.

There’s a soft music playing in the backyard as the neighbours chat and eat, constantly coming up to Jon to compliment him about the food. Everything is great. The chicken, the pasta, the salad. Daenerys also admits that she’s never tasted something nearly as good as Jon’s food, but of course she chooses not to make a fuss about it because if they are ‘married’ then she should be used to her husband’s cooking skills, not stupefied.

“I’m glad they like the food,” a voice blooms behind her, “I’ve worked my arse off makin’ it perfect.”

She does not require a glance to know whose deep voice this is. Plus, she does not wish to look at him. She can smell him—he’s taken a bath again, the faint scent of the soap they have both been using is unwittingly floating in her nostrils. He smelled the same when he kissed her. Dany has put on her prettiest red cocktail dress and nice, pointy black heels. She’s done being miserable about her situation. This is a party, albeit a small one, she ought to feel good about herself.

Martha is passing by them when she walks up to Dany with a glass of wine. “Here you go, dear,” she says, “it’s your fourth so I’d slow down on that a little.”

Dany smiles. “Thank you.”

“Fourth glass of wine?” Jon echoes, still behind her. “Almost as good as me. I’ve been drinkin’ while cooking so I think I'm on my sixth or seventh.”

She turns to him – so rapidly that Jon flinches when her wavy hair slaps across his face. Good, she thinks. “What are you doing?” she asks, teeth clenched.

He has the audacity to look befuddled. “What am I doin’?”

“Talking to me,” she hisses, “after you made it clear how you felt.”

“Is it about what happened in the garden?”

She does not humour him with a reply.

Jon knits his brow. “You’ve misunderstood me.”

“How?” she asks, “you hate me, don’t you? You despise everything about this trip and you’re just sticking around for the payment. So why do you keep talking to me?”

His eyes flash. “Are you out of your mind? I didn’t answer one question of yours and you’re sayin’ that I hate you? That I only want your money?”

“You answered the question. You didn’t say we were friends or that we’re anything more than two people stuck in a shitty situation,” she sneers.

“We _are_ two people stuck in a shitty situation.”

“Well, you’re more than just that to me,” she incredulously states. "A lot more," she adds, softer than her previous statement.

Jon’s mouth opens and closes. His jaw ticks, eyes searching hers. “Don’t…say that.”

She can’t help but feel offended. Again. “See,” she says, “that’s what I’m talking about. You can’t even stand the idea of us being more than two people travelling together. I’ve told you personal things I’ve not told many people and you did too. Did that not count as anything?”

Dany does not understand why she is complaining about not being friends with this man. It’s not like they’ll ever see each other again. But she’s drunk and his words earlier hurt her. What she wants to remember from this disastrous voyage is the unlikely friend she made but he does not even feel the same way about her.

Jon takes a step towards her, placing his mouth next to her ear and whispers, “You’re makin’ a scene. Nick is staring at us already.”

Daenerys inclines her head in his direction, their faces inches apart. His smell reeks of alcohol, and so does hers probably. “I don’t care,” she says, scowling, “Couples fight too. Don’t they, _husband_?”

Nick has seen enough to understand that something is not right between Jon and Daenerys. He excuses himself from a conversation and walks up to them, worry written on his face. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing,” Jon assures him.

“No. I’m not gonna lie. My husband and I are having an argument,” Daenerys says. She wouldn’t have said so were she sober and sane but alcohol has always had its wicked ways of messing with her subconscious. “And I can’t _pretend_ that everything’s fine.”

“You’re insane,” Jon mutters, “she’s insane.”

Nick look between the two of them like a parent who has to decide which one of the kids is the culprit for breaking a flower vase. “Listen, Martha and I strongly believe in discussion. The only way to solve a problem is through conversation. If you don’t talk it out, you’ll never know each other’s points of view and you’ll just keep fighting and fighting and not solving anything.”

He makes a good point.

“So,” Nick resumes, “I’m going to have to ask you to retire to your room and _talk_. If it’s still not resolved by the time you come out, you can be mad at me.”

“We won’t be mad at you,” Daenerys says softly, “you’re already putting up with us and it just feels like we’re two troublesome teenagers.”

“Yeah,” Jon agrees, “it _is_ better for us to go and not ruin your party.”

“You’re not ruining anything except each other’s moods,” declares Nick, “so go and have a nice talk. I’m an old man, I know what I’m talking about. There’s nothing a calm discussion hasn’t fixed. Key word being calm.”

Daenerys takes his advice to heart and grabs Jon’s hand, taking him aback. His dark eyes follow her petite hand in his and back to her face, confusion and something more gleaming in his irises. “You’re right,” Daenerys says, not looking away from Jon.

“That’s more like it,” Nick encouragingly says.

***

Jon is the one who shuts the door behind them. He locks it, even. Daenerys can barely stand still, the wine doing funny things to her nerves. Why were they fighting again?

She hears Jon sigh heavily behind her. “You’re drunk,” he says.

“So are you,” she accuses. “You’re so bloody annoying.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“Why are we not friends?”

“Are you listenin’ to yourself?” Jon asks. “You sound like a child. I don't—you’re not thinkin’ clearly.”

She sees red. “You know what? I will pay you right now and you can _leave_ because I’m clearly not someone you wish to deal with anymore—”

“Daenerys.”

She is stumbling to her bag, unzipping it with shaky hands while rambling on, “—I thought we were friends. It might’ve been just a few days but I was beginning to trust you. And tell you…stuff. And—and I slept next to you!”

“Daenerys.”

“You told me about your family and what happened to them and that changed my mind about you. You’re not the broody asshole I thought you were. I saw more in you and I—I thought you felt the same.” She is rummaging through her purse now, angrily taking out every bill she can find. He can go to hell with his money. “Was it all an act to ensure that I’d pay you? Because I would have anyway. I am not Davos.”

When she turns around to throw the money at his face, Jon grasps her hand with one of his while the other snatches the money and, without even glancing at it, he throws all of it on the bed, pushing her until her back collides firmly against the door. She gasps, not at the impact, but at a general shock of what he thinks he’s doing getting so close to her, the posture feeling too intimate after the kiss they've shared.

The kiss she has not stopped thinking about but will not admit. 

She pushes her free hand weakly against his chest but Jon resists, rooted in front of her – his dark eyes a raging storm. “You’re insufferable. Remind me never to let you drink again,” he growls.

“Let me go.”

“I don’t want your bloody money, woman.”

“Then what do you want?” she spits.

Jon clenches and unclenches his teeth. “Do you really wish to know?”

She scoffs. “Yes.”

“Ever since you walked into the Night’s Watch with your silly dress and silver hair, I’ve thought about only one thing,” Jon says, “you.”

She thinks she might’ve stopped breathing altogether.

He presses, “I think about how you’re the only person I’ve ever met that can literally drive me insane. Everything you said made my blood boil, made me snap and I had no idea why you possessed the unnatural talent to make me lose control. I think about your stupid assumptions about the North and your stubbornness and how you’re runnin’ after a guy who does not deserve it.” He lets out a shaky breath and quieter, he tells her, “but I also think about how you were ready to fight to get your bag back just because it meant a great deal to you. How you would not give up even when all the odds seemed to pile up against your cause. I think about how you were willing to change your mind about Winterfell when I told you stories about it and your eyes lit up with some sort of child-like wonder, I think about that damned smile. I think about you and Ghost playing together....”

Daenerys can’t focus on her breathing or the world around her, all she sees is Jon – his face a few centimetres away from hers. Her mind is clogged up with his words and she can’t speak or move, frozen and thrown by the realisation of what he is slowly admitting.

He lets go of her hand but does not move away. “I think about that kiss. I haven’t slept because of that kiss,” he mumbles, his breath fanning over her face. “I haven’t slept because of you.”

She does not know what to say. What reply is she supposed to give? “Jon, I….”

“You’ll be gone tomorrow,” he informs her, voice thick, “you won’t be back. This will all have been a funny story you’ll tell your boyfriend or children one day. I don’t want to be losing someone again, Daenerys. I don’t want to be your friend. I don’t want to be your anything. I— _please_ don’t make this harder than it already is.”

She stares at him, wide-eyed and paralysed.

He gives her one last pained look before moving away from her. As soon as she regains the ability to move, she makes a sprint for it out of the room, needing to breathe and think and find a way to calm her racing heart.

***

That night, when the party has come to an eventual end and everyone has left, Daenerys cautiously returns to her room, only to find that Jon has headed out.

She has tried to digest all the new information, tried to make sense out of it. But she could not. It’s impossible for him to fall in love with her in just two days, right? He doesn’t know her.

But yet.

Even the mere memory of the things he said makes her stomach flip and turn and churn. She’s never felt this way before—even the tips of her fingers are tingling, her heart has grown wings and is trying to fly out of her goddamned chest by how fast it's beating.

In the secrecy of her mind, a place where no one else can know what she is thinking – a selfish part of her enjoys being wanted and desired. Looked at the way he looks at her, passion and want darkly colouring his eyes. She’s never gone through this stage of a relationship. With Daario, everything is absolute and planned out and all she has to do is follow the steps.

Jon could not be more of the opposite. He’s a whirlwind of emotions and facades, each one surprising her more than the last. He brings out sensations from a depth within her being which she never knew existed. Every time she tells herself to _stop_ thinking about this, she can’t prevent that little, wicked part of her subconscious to speak up.

_I haven’t slept because of that kiss. I haven’t slept because of you._

There’s Daario in her life. Daario, whom she’s always loved.

Jon is everything Daenerys is supposed to hate: he is full of uncertainties and in the span of a day he’s irritated her more than anyone in her life has. But he is all she thinks about anymore.

She wants him. Despite herself, despite the millions of reasons why she should _not._

Daenerys groans to herself and lets herself fall back on the bed. She doesn’t know what to do with her stupid brain and its stupid, incoherent thoughts.

The door opens and Daenerys sits up in a whim.

Jon pauses before pushing it shut behind him. There’s something in his hand but at the sight of her, he stuffs it in his back pocket. “You’re here,” he remarks the obvious.

“Yep. I needed to sober up. I drank a lot of water and I feel less tipsy now, I guess, but—”

“You were gone to think about what I said,” proclaims Jon, “you don’t have to avoid sayin’ it. I told you because I wanted you to know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologising for? Me being stupid?”

“You’re not stupid.”

“Stupid enough to want something I can’t have,” Jon says.

Daenerys’ heart lurches at his words. “I care about you,” she says, “a lot more than I planned to. Which was not at all. You’re not going to be a funny story I’ll tell my kids about. You’re one of the best memories I’ll probably have.”

He listens to her, his hand flexing at his side.

It’s almost as if her heart can sense her next words before she says them, so it starts beating erratically out of pace, igniting her fight or flight response. “And…and I felt something during that kiss. I don't know how to explain it, hell, I did not even want to admit it out loud to myself.”

Jon’s lips part. “This is not fair,” he warns, “and you know it.”

She stands up. “I’m telling you the truth. As you told me.”

“The truth,” he enunciates, approaching her as a wolf its prey, “is that you’re in a happy, loving relationship with another man and I’m just some—some sort of adventurous ride you wish to try once in your life just for the sake of it.”

“Don’t say that,” she decries. “It’s not true.”

“You haven’t heard the rest,” Jon insists, still getting closer and closer to her. “The thing is…I wouldn’t even say no.”

Her heart misses a beat. “What?”

“It’s _pathetic_ ,” he breathes out, eyeing her mouth and then meeting her gaze once more, “how badly I want you.”

Daenerys feels like she’ll pass out now.

“I don’t care about your boyfriend,” he says coldly, “but I care about you. Think about it. If you’ll regret this tomorrow then go to bed, now. But if you want this, Daenerys, if you really want this – then say the word.”

“You do realise that…come tomorrow, this will have meant nothing.”

“I know.”

“Nothing at all.”

“Yes.”

He’s only two steps away from her now.

Daenerys swallows. “And that I might not regret it but that doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about the proposal I'll make to Daario.”

Pain is evident on his face but he crosses the distance between them anyway. “I know,” he repeats gruffly.

“Whatever I feel about you,” she proceeds, voice dropped to a whisper, as if speaking of the world’s biggest secret, “confuses me. And angers me. But it won’t make me a fool and have me lose the life that I had planned out.”

A hair’s breadth away, Jon reaches up to touch her cheekbones with his knuckles, gently caressing her face. His eyes are hard as steel but his touch is as light as a feather. “What I feel for you confuses me as well,” he says, “but the only difference is that I’m already a fool for you.”

Daenerys wouldn’t have been able to stop the kiss even if her life depended on it.

She is the one who reaches out for him, drags his mouth down on hers. Jon grunts in her mouth, the sound of surprised swallowed by her mouth. The wrongness of it all is only a faint song playing in the back of her head, the rest of her body is glad to remind her that _this_ is what she wants. Him. Her back unknowingly arcs into him and Jon wraps his arms around her waist, crushing her petite frame against his.

When she pulls away to breathe, Jon does not seem to care that they need oxygen, he grabs her face and pulls her back in for a more fervent kiss. Each kiss is stronger and more heated than the last, carrying more purpose. They learn each other’s mouths in a messy dance of nipping and licking until they finally come to an agreed pace and sync.

Jon’s lips are plump against hers and his beard nicely scrapes her skin. She welcomes it all: the softness, the roughness, the heat. His tongue parts her lips and Daenerys opens her mouth, letting Jon taste her with his slick tongue, and she returns the favour gladly.

“Wait,” she says, pulling away from him and he chases her lips stubbornly. Daenerys breathlessly chuckles. “Lock the door.”

He pushes a strand of silver hair away from her place. “I think they’ve been waitin’ for us to fuck, I don’t think they’ll complain.”

She hits his arm playfully and Jon snorts, making a quick trip to bolt the door shut.

When he comes back to her, cheeks flushed and lips bruised, he pauses. “Daenerys. Are you sure you won’t regret this tomorrow?”

“If you keep asking I might,” she tells him moodily. “Just shut up and…and kiss me.”

“You won’t have to ask twice,” he promises and sure enough, is kissing her again.

He picks up where they left off, their mouths moving in hurried but passionate kisses, his hands moving from her shoulders down her back and settling on her hips. Daenerys reaches up to tug on the tie she gave him, allowing his curls to bounce freely. _Pretty,_ she thinks.

“I’m not pretty,” he growls against her mouth and kisses her chin, her neck, her throat.

She sighs wantonly, not even realising she said that aloud.

He picks her up and drops her on the bed. Daenerys mindlessly pushes her things out of the bed, too consumed in the feeling his mouth is providing her. Kissing her, teasing her, licking her. She feels like she is going to combust into thin air.

“Jon,” she begs, gasping as he sucks on her collarbone, “Please. _Hurry_. I need—” She can’t finish the sentence, because her thoughts no longer seem to be coherent when his fingers run down her skin or when his lips follow that same trail.

Her flesh is kissed by fire, head thrown back in the mattress as Jon places open-mouthed kisses on her shoulder. “I know what you need,” he rasps.

Thank the gods for that, she thinks, because she doubts that she’ll be able to speak.

When his thumbs press against her taut, covered nipples Daenerys lets out a shaky moan. Jon swallows that sound in a languid kiss, tugging at her bottom lip like a starved wolf. She runs her fingers through his silky curls, confirming that they are as soft as they always look.

He is kissing down her chest when she realises what they’re doing.

It suddenly feels too intimate, _too much._ The soft caresses, the gentle kisses on every inch of her skin, him touching her as if she is his most priced possession. She blinks, taking in a deep breath. She can’t have this—they can’t have this.

While he’s busy exploring her body, she manages to flip them over. Jon stares up at her in surprise as she straddles his hips.

Jon exhales. “What are you doin’?”

“What we’re supposed to do,” she decides, “finding a release.”

Something dark and unreadable crosses Jon’s gaze. “Daenerys.”

“No,” she says, bearing down on him, feeling his hard cock. They both let out trembling breaths. “This…is all it is.”

His jaw tenses but he says nothing, only watches her under half-lidded eyes.

Daenerys unzips his pants while maintaining eye contact. She can do this. It doesn’t feel too personal. It's just sex. “Do you have a—”

“Condom?” Jon finishes and fishes it out of his pocket.

Daenerys gapes at him. “Ho—”

“Nick called me to give it to me earlier,” he says, lips tilting, “he says every good argument should end in a nice fuck.”

“They are the weirdest people ever,” she mumbles.

“Right but we’re giving them what they want, technically.”

She groans when he fills her up – perfectly, hitting just the right spot.

“Fuck,” he curses at the feeling, “Daenerys… _fuck_.”

“Wait.” She braces her hands on his chest, adjusting to the feeling of him buried deep inside her.

Jon rubs her thighs soothingly, hiking up her dress. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Yes." She stops him from rubbing her thighs and soothing her. She does not want his adorable, big eyes full of worry. She wants raw, primal sex with no feelings. "Now.”

She begins moving slowly, sliding up and down his cock at her own speed and Jon watches her from below – still regarding her like she’s one of the world’s greatest wonders. Pleasure pools at the pits of her gut, toes curling as she rides him with more ferocity. “Stop, ah, looking at me like that.”

“I can’t help it,” Jon growls. “Gods, I love the feel of you…and your sweet, tight little cunt.”

His filthy words send her in a spiral, her thrusts picking up.

He rubs her thighs up and down and every time she sinks in too deep, he squeezes her. “Daenerys,” he says, her name prettier than it has ever sounded.

She is mewling and moaning and Jon meets every snap of her hips with a thrust upwards. “Yes,” she sighs, “I’m so—so close.”

Jon sits up, pulling her flat against his body with his arm wrapped around her back. Daenerys’ hands fall feebly on his shoulders. His eyes are dark and haunting, full of lust and other emotions that are constantly flickering. He is fucking her, hard and fast—but his eyes tell a different story, one she doesn’t want to know.

She gasps, letting her head fall in the crook of his neck as he helps her bounce up and down his shaft, his free hand slithering under her dress and finding her clit to rub at. Daenerys shatters on top of him, all her nerves’ endings aflame. With three more powerful thrusts, Jon grunts in his own release. She collapses on top of him, his cock softening inside of her and his heartbeat drumming against her ear, the beats naming her a fool.

***

She wakes up snuggled up next to a warm body, the person’s arm wrapped around her petite form and has her caged against his chest.

Her eyes widen as she rises, pushing herself away from Jon.

He cracks an eyelid open. “What’s gotten into you?” he asks, yawning nonchalantly.

She holds the bedsheet to her chest. “We were cuddling,” she announces, petrified.

Jon chuckles, voice rough and raspy from sleep. “I was fuckin’ you hours ago but heavens forbid we cuddled!”

Dany throws a pillow at his face, angry—that he’s right. The night did not end when they were done having sex, oh gods no. When they were getting ready for bed, she could still smell what they did on the sheets and it drove her crazy – not with regret or remorse but with more lust. Which then made her ashamed. She tried clenching her thighs together and forget about it but then he turned to look at her, a dangerous glint in his eyes and she was far gone. In a matter of minutes, she was a crying mess again just from his fingers. Jon knew how to tug at every string in her body and she was helpless and writhing, holding his deft fingers against her cunt as he brought her to a climax…again.

She sits up on the bed, body sore and head hurting. “I can’t believe it,” she says.

“Save the speech of regret.”

“You don’t get it,” Daenerys tells him, “it’s not _that._ It’s that I don’t even regret it. I feel _something_ for you. That I shouldn’t. If I was in love with Daario, I shouldn’t feel anything for you.”

Jon stares at her. “What do you want me to tell you? To not run back to this guy? Will it make a difference if I say that?”

She lowers her eyes to the ground.

Jon nods to himself. “That’s what I thought,” he says coldly.

“I have a future planned out with him,” she states before he heads out the door, “it’s always been planned out.”

“Then,” says Jon, “go on with your plans, Daenerys.”

***

Martha hugs Daenerys and Jon tightly before they depart from her house. She wishes them the best in their marriage and that they have, and Dany quotes, ‘many cute little silver-haired kids with grey eyes’. Despite her weirdness, Daenerys has grown fond of this woman.

The train is on time this time. There’s no bad to weather to stop her. There’s…no obstacle. She just has to walk right in.

And somehow, it’s the hardest challenge she’s had to face since she came here.

“You’re coming with me, right?” Dany asks.

“I don’t have a choice,” answers Jon, “Nick thinks this is a romantic trip.”

Daenerys nods. “I’ll add all of this to your final bill.”

Jon does not answer.

They leave Winterfell in a quietness that has her stomachs in knots. The curtains have fallen – it’s time for her to face the music.

***

“Where is Daario?” Jon sounds uninterested but Daenerys can see through his mask. His fingers are clenching and unclenching at his sides and his eyes tell her all she needs to know about how he is feeling.

They’ve gotten off the train ten minutes ago. And a lump formed in her throat from the moment she stepped foot on Essosi soil. It’s still there now, lodged uncomfortably in her pharynx. “I texted him already. He said he’ll be here in f—”

“Daenerys!”

She turns around, met with the eyes of the man who’s the reason behind all this madness. She smiles forcibly, only momentarily forgetting everything to greet Daario with a hug.

“I missed you,” he says.

“You’re choking me,” she jokes.

He pulls away, grinning at her. “I was so worried, babe.” Before she can react, Daario looks behind her. “Oh. You must be Jon. She told me about you. Thank you for helping her out, man.”

Daenerys’ heart drops as she slowly turns around. To his credit, Jon’s face is the epitome of nonchalance. He even offers Daario a little smile and a nod.

“Did you pay him, Dany?” Daario asks.

She licks her lips. “No…I was about to.”

Jon’s eyes find hers.

Daario’s phone beeps. “Ugh, work again,” he groans, “Okay…well you pay him and I’ll be back in a few seconds. Just need to get this.”

Dany nods mutely and Daario kisses her forehead as he goes to take call, just a few feet away from them.

“So that’s Daario,” Jon notes, not meeting her gaze anymore. “Not what I expected. Not the blue hair, especially.”

Daenerys tries to swallow that stupid lump but it persists. “Jon…,” she says, and stops herself. There’s no time for this. No time to question what happened between them or to reassure him with sweet words. It’s time to let go. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“I don’t want your money, Daenerys,” Jon tells her.

She shakes her head. “You’ll lose the Night’s Watch if you don't take the money. I can help.”

“Please,” he presses, “listen to me. I’ll keep that stupid hair tie. I don’t need anythin’ else.”

She feels the unexpected urge to cry. “Why are you making this difficult?” she whispers to herself.

Jon smiles sadly. “Are you listenin’ to yourself? You’ve…no bloody clue how hard _you_ are making this for me.” Every word, every syllable sounds like torture to him.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, a single tear falling down her cheek, “I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

When she looks up, his eyes are as glossy as hers. He uses his thumb to sweep away that lone tear. "Will you be happy?" he asks. "I can...deal with what I feel. But I just need to know that you'll be happy."

And then Daario’s cheerful voice is calling out for her and she regrettably looks away from Jon, his question left unanswered.

“Dany,” Daario exclaims, “I’ve just heard great news.”

“Really?” she asks, no enthusiasm in her voice. “It’s not really the ti—”

“First of all…I need to ask something.” When he gets on one knee, Daenerys stumbles back. “I’ve been meaning to do this…Daenerys Targaryen, will you marry me?”

“W-what?”

The world comes to a halt around her. She is aware of people watching them but all she sees is Daario asking the question she’s been dying to hear for _years_ and…and Jon. When she turns around to find him, to somehow explain that this was not supposed to happen like this - in front of him, he is already gone.

“Dany.” Daario awkwardly chuckles. “Everyone’s looking at us.”

She faces him again. “Wait, are—I…Daario, this is so sudden.” Ironic, since _she_ was planning to surprise him with the question.

She’s supposed to be happy, right?

This is everything she has ever wanted. 

The snakes coiling around her gut and clutching her heart and _twisting_ it to the point of discomfort just means excitement…right?

“I know, baby,” Daario says, “but it was bound to happen. I just got the last push I needed.”

She frowns. “What push?”

“Oh, the call I just got! We’re being sold the mansion. Remember? The big, beautiful mansion I told you about?”

“Yes…you said it was going to be hard to get it, though.”

“Turns out the owner just had one last clause,” admits Daario, “marriage.”

“Excuse me?”

“The owner accepts selling it to me if I am married. It's a stupid tradition he believes in but how cool is that? We get to be married _and_ live in a mansion.”

She takes a step backwards. “You’re marrying me for a mansion?” she asks.

Daario begins to get up. “I’m confused. Didn’t we both know we’d get married eventually?”

“Yes,” she says, “but for _love_.”

“I am in love with you.”

She breathes out an exasperated laugh. “Oh my God,” she blurts to herself, “You’re unbelievable.”

“How so?” Daario is in front of her, eyebrows pinched together. “You’re confusing me, darling, you must be tired.”

“Yes! Yes. I am _unbelievably_ tired, Daario. I packed my things and flew to Braavos, where there was a storm so I would not get to Essos on time. But I persevered. For you, I took a _boat_ to Winterfell, where I was promised I’d find an airport. A boat! And I’m seasick. I met Jon who took me on a motorcycle to the train station but on the way I dropped my bloody bag in a lake and then—then some thieves stole it from me and I was dirty and tired and annoyed but I continued. For you. I went out of my way to get to Essos so I could propose to you on the 29th of February.”

Daario's eyes grow big and he smiles, as if he hasn't heard how angry she is. “You came here to propose. Great! So why are you mad that I’m proposing?”

Daenerys closes her eyes, unable to believe how dim-witted he is being. “You’re proposing for a fucking house, Daario.”

“It’s not _just_ a house, it’s a mansion with—”

“I cheated on you,” she discloses out of a sudden, hearing numerous gasps from the people who are watching them, “I cheated on you while I was away.”

Daario’s face discomposes. “You what?”

“I had sex with the guy who just dropped me off,” she plainly tells him.

A minute passes.

He says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah…okay.”

“ _Okay_?”

“Everyone needs to satisfy their sexual urges,” Daario says, as if he is speaking about something as simple as the weather, “We’re not going to let that ruin our relationship, will we?”

“I just told you I cheated on you and you said okay,” she says incredulously, “how is that okay? In any way?”

“We—I mean we can’t control…stuff…sometimes. But it does not have to ruin everything we’ve built. We started out slow and now look where we are, it’d be dumb to ruin all of this progress because of a human error.”

“Stop talking about us like it’s a business deal,” she pleads, “and that sounds highly stupid.”

“I forgive you, Daenerys.” He smiles and it's too fucking easy. “Let’s move on.”

“Wait.” She realises something. “Daario…have you ever cheated on me?”

"I-" He awkwardly adjusts his collar. "Like I said, we can't let  _human errors_ ruin us. It's you and I, Daenerys. No matter what happens, we were always meant to be together."

When Daenerys does not feel the slightest bit disappointed about him basically admitting he cheated, she knows something is wrong. Something has always been wrong...but she was too blind to see it.

Daenerys begins walking away when he asks, "Uh...so that's a yes?"

***

**TWO DAYS LATER**

“Where’s the fuckin’ money, Snow?” Thorne asks, ruining this beautiful, bright morning with his smelly mouth.

“You said two weeks,” Jon informs him.

“Changed my mind,” Alliser declares, smirking.

“Well I haven’t made enough to repay y—”

“Then maybe you should start packin’ your shit, boy,” he growls.

Jon clamps his mouth shut. Argue as much as he wishes, he knows he’ll never make enough money. What’s the point of delaying the inevitable? “When do you want the keys?” he asks.

Alliser’s face morphs into shock for a moment, “You’re givin’ up?” he asks and then laughs, “as you should! I’m coming back in two hours.”

Jon nods. He looks back at the Night’s Watch; his home and all that’s left of his family. Even the ache in his heart can’t save him from this one.

***

Tormund is restless. “You sure there’s no other way?”

“You think I haven’t thought?” Jon snaps, angrier than he intended. “Unless you shit a bucket of gold, no, there’s no other way.”

He’s already packed everything—cleared out the rooms in boxes. All he has to do is hand over the keys…and it’ll all be over.

Alliser kicks the door open and Tormund immediately starts yelling, “YOU FUCKIN’ PIECE OF SHIT.”

Thorne is not affected by Jon’s friend’s words. If anything, it only makes him smirk. Jon sighs, touching Tormund’s shoulder. “Stop.”

“Listen to your buddy and stop,” Thorne snarls, “because it’s too late. I’ve already sold the place. Just gimme the keys and _out_.”

Jon is dumbfounded. “Sold the place?” he repeats, surely having misheard. Who would buy the Night’s Watch? It’s not worth much. And everyone here knows it belonged to Jon and his family, why would they want it?

“Don’t look so sour,” the evil man drawls, “you even know who she is. Your pretty little girlfriend.”

“What are you….” Jon trails off.

It can’t be.

“Snow!” Tormund is calling out to him but Jon is already pushing past Alliser Thorne to rush outside.

And it’s _her._

Of course it is. Who else could make his blood sing like she does? Who else could’ve slithered her way so deep under his skin that all he saw ever since she left was _her, her_ and _her?_ Daenerys stands in front of him, a goddess basked in the sunlight, her silver hair glowing magically upon her head. It’s unfair for someone to be this pretty. The golden white hair is already a heart-stopper but _gods,_ the lilac eyes always glittering as if they hold all of the stars in the sky? It’s not fucking fair to have both.

When she smiles, Jon has to remind herself that she’s not his to stare at like a damned fool.

Not like that’s ever stopped him before. And now look what it’s done to him—broke his stupid heart.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, trying to sound void and uncaring but his voice wavers a bit and it gives away just too much.

“I bought the Night’s Watch,” she declares and to Alliser, “The keys, please.”

He snatches them from Jon who is still looking at her, in a trance, and goes to put them in Daenerys’ hands.

“You can’t,” Jon protests, “Don’t take her money. This is between us, not her.”

“The fuck you talkin’ about, boy?” Thorne snorts distastefully. “You can’t pay shit and I took it from you. You owe me nothin’ anymore. And this girl bought it from me—twice the price I was askin’ you to pay me. Everyone’s happy, aye?”

Daenerys smiles at Jon. “Exactly.”

“Why are you doing this?” Jon asks Dany, because he doesn’t wish to play anymore. He was a fool once and she wrapped her little hand around his heart, crushed it and went away like the wind. He allowed it, too. He could’ve stopped it before it went too far but he loved every second of it. But not anymore. He can’t do this anymore. Not her and her cute little sundress and those _damned_ eyes…. She’s supposed to be gone. It’s already hard enough trying to forget her when she is not here but now she is only three feet away from her and it’s making him mad. Is this the gods playing a cruel, inhumane trick on him?

“I think you can leave, sir,” she dodges his question by talking to Alliser. “This was a good deal.”

“Alright. Thank _you._ ” Thorne gives Jon one last cruel smile, “You’ll never see me again, boy. Be fuckin’ happy for that.”

“Are you crazy?” Jon asks Daenerys when he drives away. “What are you even doing here? Where’s Daario?”

“What?” she asks, “he’s not with me, Jon. He’s…it didn’t work out.”

He tries to kill the spark of hope in his chest. “He asked you to marry him,” he says.

“And you left,” Dany points out, “you should’ve seen the rest. Or perhaps it’s good that you haven’t—whatever. The point is, he and I are no longer together. You asked me a question before you left. But you never let me answer it.”

Jon knows what she's talking about. He wanted to hear her confirm that she will be happy with Daario and even if that would've broken his already shattered heart, it would've helped him heal...telling himself that at least she was happy with someone else. But then Daario asked her to marry him and he no longer needed confirming that they would be happy. It's what she's always wanted. "What do you mean?"

“The answer is no. I don't think I would've been happy with him,” she says, moving towards him. “I’ve come here to tell you that I was an idiot. You were right about so many things. I’m terrified of change. Daario was a constant in my life and I felt secure knowing we had everything planned out for us. But I never paused to ask myself if that makes me happy. And then I met you and you somehow flipped my life upside down in just a few days.

“I don’t know how to describe my feelings for you, Jon. I don’t know if I should call it love already. And I don’t know if it’s any less than that. But I love it. It terrifies me but in a good way. I don’t want what I had with Daario. I don’t want to have to tell myself that I’m supposed to love someone. I want to feel it. Every moment, every day. I used to think that what mattered was having the best and biggest wedding, better than all of my friends'. A bigger ring than theirs. But none of that is true. What matters is having the love Nick and Martha does. Pure and simple but still as passionate as their first day.

“I’m not asking you to marry me…but it is the twenty-ninth and I still want to ask you something. I want to ask you to _not_ make plans with me if that is what you want, to go on crazy adventures and to drive me insane like you already do. I want to be in love with you, not because I am told to by my family and my subconscious but because I want to.” She grabs his hand and places the keys on his palm, looking up at him – her amethyst eyes shining with tears. “So, what do you say, Jon Snow?”

“No,” is what he replies.

“What?” Daenerys and Tormund exclaim.

Jon cracks a smile. “I’ll continue to drive you insane…just as much as you drive me, I’m sure. And we’ll go on plenty of adventures,” he promises, “but I want to make plans with you, Daenerys.”

“You do?” she asks, grinning.

“Yes,” he whispers, aligning her face with his. “only difference is they won’t be boring.”

Daenerys shakes her head in amusement, eyes flickering between his lips and eyes. “When are you gonna kiss me?”

Jon does not intend on prolonging her wait. The moment their lips meet, Jon knows that this is all he wants to be doing for the rest of his life, however long that is.

***

That night, they lay in tangled sheets, bodies intertwined.

And they make plans.

“We’ll need a place to stay,” she mumbles, tracing the fading scars on his chest. They were from the burning incident, he told her earlier while they made love (she believes it was the second round), he got them while running for his life. “The Night’s Watch won’t do. This place needs a serious redecoration.”

Jon hums, moving down her body to spray kisses on her stomach. Daenerys bites her lip, trying to hold back a moan. He does not seem to be able to leave her body untouched for longer than two minutes. Every time they stop, he’s reaching out for her again—kissing her, biting her, _licking_ her. It’s as if she’s somehow cast a spell on him and he is now fully, ardently addicted to her. Not that she’s complaining.

“Are you listening to me?” she asks, arching her back when he drops a kiss just below her navel. “We need changes, Jon. We will go shopping, I think you'd look good in red. You wear too much black. And we’ll buy a house eventually. _And_ I’m giving Ghost a bath tomorrow. He looks horrible. I also think the Night’s Watch needs more life and colour.”

Jon looks up, eyes dazed and curls unbound. He is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. “Whatever you wish, love,” he tells her, smiling deliciously, “you’re the owner of the Night’s Watch now, hmm?”

Then he is back to torturing her, teasing her. She rolls her eyes. “And we’ll spend New Year’s on Dragonstone.”

“Hm.”

“Christmas can depend. We can do—ah—one year here, one year there.” He has bitten down on her thigh to elicit that little shriek.

“Hm.”

“I also want a garden like Martha and Nick’s. Oh and I wish to tell them the truth, too. We’ll go see them, alright?”

“Hm.”

“We’re buying a _car._ Not a motorcycle.”

He is closer to her mound now and Dany spreads her legs apart, her cunt throbbing in its need for him. He teases her too much, takes a lot of pleasure in watching her beg and suffer. But when he does give it to her—it makes up for all of it.

“Whatever—” He kisses one thigh, “—you—“ the other, “—want.” His mouth is on her now and Dany gasps at the sensation, his nose pressing into her nub, tongue sweeping up and down her slit and then switching to lazy circles, tasting her leisurely. She grasps at the sheets, her legs thrown over his shoulder as Jon holds her down firmly, feasting on her like a wolf.

“Jon,” she cries, hating how easily he distracts her, “Gods—right there. Don’t you ha— _oh_ —have any rules of your own? Any plans? _Yes._ ” She is a mess of curses and whines, but hopes he understood what she asked in between.

“My plan,” he says, breath fanning over her cunt, “is to make you scream like this every fuckin’ day. And I’m pretty sure I’ll manage just fine.”

As she falls apart under his sweet ministrations, she can confirm that he’ll manage _just fine._

**Author's Note:**

> if you got to the end of this then wow congrats. it took me forever to read this lol. 
> 
> can you guys let me know if you prefer that i post my one-shots like this (full, in only one chapter) or that i divide them into 2 or 3 parts. i personally have no problem with either but i know many people prefer having it in a continuous form so let me know below.


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